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MENG_Neumann, Tamar

The Definition of Irish Identity Through the Twentieth Century as Seen by: Sean O'Casey, Brendan Behan, and Brian Friel

The Definition of Irish Identity Through the Twentieth Century as Seen by: Sean
O'Casey, Brendan Behan, and Brian Friel
The concept of Irish identity has been explored in both Irish literature and the responses
to Irish literature. Scholars have analyzed novels, poems, and plays to interpret how Irish writers
have chosen to define Ireland in the twentieth century. While there is a great deal of literature
available on Irish identity and what it means to be a postcolonial nation, I will give my own
interpretation of Irish identity by choosing three playwrights, writing in thirty year increments,
who provide a snapshot of the state of Ireland throughout the twentieth century. Rather than
trying to define Ireland without reference to their colonial past, I argue these playwrights create a
unique identity for Ireland by claiming and demonstrating that the Irish way of life is not the
British way of life.
Before identifying the three playwrights and their plays the nature of identity needs to be
explored. The definition of self is slippery because language must be used to articulate the
parameters and language is imperfect. In order to measure what something is it is compared to
what it is not. I am a woman because I am not a man, but what exactly does the word "woman"
mean? It is necessarily different than man, but the word does not capture my identity, nor does it
define a group of women. The letters merely form a symbol; a word that represents a concept. A
postcolonial nation must struggle with the very concept of identity and definition because of the
slipperiness of language. The Irish know they are not British and that is how they create what it
means to be Irish. They continually use the opposite of the British to define themselves. They
want to speak Irish and declare it as their native language because it is not English. They focus
on their own mythology and folklore because it is their history, not the British history. They
create their own class system and working class that is not the British middle class. Each of the
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playwrights uses these binaries to show how the Irish have defined themselves against the British
throughout the twentieth century.
Having established how the Irish used the characteristics opposite of the British to define
themselves I will move to an analysis of the three specific playwrights and their three plays
central to this paper. Because so much has been written on both W.B. Yeats and Samuel Beckett
I have chosen to focus on three other playwrights who wrote in thirty year increments: Sean
O'Casey (1920's), Brendan Behan (1950's), and Brian Friel (1980's). The three plays, O'Casey's
Juno and the Paycock, Behan's The Quare Fellow, and Friel's Translations, are each
playwrights' major works and when taken together the major themes come to represent what it
meant to be Irish in the twentieth century. The plays' references to the Irish working class and
most importantly the Irish language represents both the Irish culture and the essential differences
between Ireland and Britain. In each play the reaction to these major themes evolves finally
reaching the state of Friel's characters and the contemporary description of both Ireland and its
people who have learned to define themselves against the British, but who have also learned to
accept the necessity of the English language and their connection to postcolonial heritage.
Sean O’Casey, along with Yeats and Synge, helped bring Irish theatre to prominence, and
his plays were such realistic depictions of Dublin life in juxtaposition to the British influence
previously held in Ireland that he must be discussed first. Some scholars admire O’Casey for his
characterization and the humanity found in his plays, and they claim his plays are a slice of real
life, pieces of naturalism that capture Dublin and its people in the early twentieth century. All
three plays found in the Dublin Trilogy, The Shadow of the Gunman (1923), Juno and the
Paycock (1925), and The Plough and the Stars (1926) capture Ireland right after the Easter 1916
Rising, but I will focus on Juno and the Paycock because this play deals primarily with a family
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who functions as a synecdoche for Ireland as a whole. This play was O’Casey’s most successful
play and was first performed on March 3, 1924 at the Abbey Theatre in Dublin, Ireland (Ayling
15). Set during the Irish Civil War, the play focuses on a family (the Boyles) living in a tenement
in Dublin. All four family members of Juno and the Paycock represent different aspects of
Ireland. Mary, the daughter, represents youth, vitality, confusion, and the search for self that the
young Irish government found itself in after the Easter 1916 Rising. Johnny, the son, represents
the wars of Ireland during that time, and the price people had to pay for war. He also brings the
reality of war into the domestic sphere. The Captain, the father, represents the strife of the
working-class found in Ireland. Poverty, and then wealth, defines his identity, but in the end he is
left with his drink and his stereotypical Irish behaviors. Juno, the mother, represents Ireland as a
whole. She is the mother figure, just as Ireland is the mother figure for her citizens. All four
together represent the identity of the Ireland O'Casey was a product of, a colonized country
breaking free and caught in a terrible civil war.
O’Casey’s plays are so closely tied to his own personal politics and the events that were
occurring in Ireland that some important pieces of background must be mentioned first. As a
young man he was pro-Irish Ireland and joined the Gaelic League. He became part of the Irish
Republican Brotherhood (IRB) and considered the plight of the working class people to be the
most important cause of the Republican government. In 1913, in the events leading up to the
Easter 1916 Rising, the working class went on strike and the Dublin Lockout occurred. The
working class was not allowed to return to work. O’Casey looked to the Republican party and
the IRB to support the working class, but instead they supported the middle class and the owners
of the companies. This was the turning point for O’Casey and he lost his faith in Irish
Republicanism as it currently defined itself. His plays, while not entirely anti-nationalist, have
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been called that. Riots erupted during the opening week of The Plough and the Stars because the
audience was scandalized by his anti-nationalist themes. In reality, he did not dislike Ireland, but
he was disappointed by the direction the country was going. Eventually, O’Casey became so
disillusioned with Irish politics he left Ireland and settled in England shortly after the first
performances of The Plough and the Stars.
O'Casey's plays often reflect his own political struggle, and, as a result, scholars often
claim that either his plays are too political, or not political enough. Seamus Deane argues
O’Casey does not “develop a critique of Irish history or politics, even though he makes gestures
in that direction” (Irish Politics 149). While Deane’s assessment seems rather harsh when so
many other scholars have hailed O’Casey for depicting an Ireland in turmoil, Deane later
pinpoints the actual use of politics in these plays. He states, “Politics, as [O'Casey] knew it, was
the occasion of his plays; morality was their subject” (Irish Politics 149). Deane is right:
O'Casey's plays do not focus on politics. His purpose was not to depict the horrors of the Irish
war (although he does so in a way that reminds us war is hell); his purpose was to reflect the
Dublin he lived in and create human characters that became the face of Ireland.
These human characters will be the focus of my discussion of O'Casey. O’Casey’s
Ireland was the poor Dublin tenement dwellers trying to survive through a war of rebellion
(Easter 1916 Rising) and then the Irish Civil War (1922-23). Ronald Ayling claims the plays
“cover the most momentous events in Irish history, not from the point of view of the political or
military leaders, but from that of the ordinary people unwillingly caught up in the indiscriminate
savagery and recrimination of civil war and revolution” (78). The characters in Juno and the
Paycock are the "ordinary people" Ayling is describing. Dagmara Krzyzaniak argues, “A family
is a perfect microcosm in which longer, social or even national-scale problems are visualized and
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scrutinized” (209). O’Casey uses the Boyles to show a small snapshot of a larger, national
problem, and their identity becomes a metaphor for the identity of early Ireland.
Mary Boyle is the youngest in the family and will be analyzed first because, like the new
Irish government, she is on a journey of self-discovery. She has not quite figured out her own
identity, which is symbolic of the Irish government working through its own identity crisis in the
aftermath of its independence. At the beginning of the play, we see her trying to figure out her
own set of principles. Even though walking out of her job will be costly to her family, she
decides to walk out with her fellow co-workers on behalf of a friend, Jennie, who has been fired
unfairly. Mary's decision to support the working class is quickly contradicted by Juno, who
reminds Mary she was never really friends with Jennie:
MRS. BOYLE: I don’t know why you wanted to walk out for Jennie Claffey; up to this
you never had a good word for her. (O'Casey 9)
Mary's new friendship shows her ability to quickly change her mind regarding situations. She
tells Juno:
MARY: What’s the use o’belongin’ to a Trades Union if you won’t stand up for your
principles? Why did they sack her? It was a clear case o’victimization. We couldn’t let
her walk the streets, could we? (O’Casey 9)
In other words, Mary has become friends with Jennie in order to have principles and to stand up
for the Trades Union. She is still in the process of figuring out which is more important: being
loyal to her family, to a friend she hardly knows, or standing up for her Trades Union. She
chooses to follow the crowd, or in other words, to stick with the Trade Unions, because that
seems the easiest and most noble course of action. The Union helps to dictate her choice in the
matter because she cannot yet understand the difference between the rhetoric of unions or
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governments and the principles that are based on her own choice. She has not yet created her
own principles uninfluenced by the propaganda of any one group. O'Casey chooses to have Mary
side with her friend and the Trade Unions, but he makes her arguments look silly when Juno
criticizes Mary's choice:
MRS. Boyle: No, o’course you couldn’t – yous wanted to keep her company. Wan victim
wasn’t enough. When the employers sacrifice wan victim, the Trades Unions go wan
betther be sacrificin’ a hundred.
MARY: It doesn’t matter what you say, ma – a principle’s a principle. (O’Casey 9)
Mary tries to return fire on Juno's criticism by claiming "a principle's a principle," but her
argument is hollow. However, Juno's argument makes more sense in the face of their family's
condition. If Mary walks out she may lose her job permanently. After the Dublin Lockout,
choosing solidarity with those workers who went on strike would seem like sheer stupidity to
someone like Juno, who chooses realistic circumstances over principles. Mary's youth and
optimism do not allow her to think in such realistic terms. She still believes in her principles,
symbolic of a young Ireland not yet defeated by war and poverty.
Mary's youth and frivolity is further stressed at the beginning of the play because her
greatest concern is which color of ribbon she should wear to the walk out. Juno points out that
“it’s wearin’ them things that makes the employers think they’re givin’ yous too much money”
(O’Casey 9). The seriousness of this situation is realized by looking at the Boyle's tiny,
dilapidated house, but Juno has to remind Mary of the consequences of her actions. The loss of
one wage for the Boyles could be the difference between hunger and starvation. But Mary still
seems more concerned with boys and hair ribbons than she does with the monetary concerns of
her family, or the consequences that might come from walking out on her job.
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Even though Mary claims to have principles, it is unclear what those principles actually
are. Jerry Devine, Mary's suitor, seems to be the perfect fit for Mary. He claims to have a nice
job that would take her out of the slums, he declares love for her, and he is Irish. In spite of
Jerry's virtues, Mary shuns him and chooses Bentham, a foreigner. This choice once again shows
Mary's youth and provokes an interesting argument. Mary, the girl who chose to stand up for a
friend she previously did not like, shuns her fellow Irishman for a chance to escape with a
supposed wealthy British man. Bentham looks like a saviour, and Mary falls for him. Her
inexperience and youth steer her in the wrong direction, and she makes a poor choice. Ayling
argues that Mary is attracted to Bentham because he is different than the world she knows.
Because Bentham is educated and well-dressed, she does not recognize he is a fake. In the end,
he is the one who escapes, leaving her pregnant and a social outcast. Even Jerry will not take her
back when he realizes the worst has happened. Her youth and inexperience are strongly symbolic
of the newly formed Irish government after the 1916 Rising. Looking for a way to escape, Irish
citizens chose independence, but this independence only gave Ireland another form of war and
oppression.
Bentham's character, while he was not a member of the family, should be mentioned in
connection with Mary. Their relationship reflects the colonizer/colonized relationship. O’Casey
makes this connection obvious by making Bentham the dapper British man and Mary the poor
Irish girl. Bentham seems to court Mary and even puts up with her family. He promises wealth to
the Boyles through a mysterious will. Everything about him shouts he is the benefactor of the
family. Similarly, many colonizing countries claim to be the benefactor of the country they have
colonized. Colonizers claim they will provide wealth, religion, and government to countries they
believe are less developed than themselves. The connection between Bentham and the colonizing
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country of Britain is further perpetuated with Bentham's first introduction. His appearance
shames the Irish characters on stage, which immediately makes the audience question his
truthfulness. The other characters are real, human people surviving on little. Bentham seems to
have everything, and this plenty makes his promises sound false. His deceit makes him seem like
the one character in the play that feels like a fictional person, while all the others feel like
snapshots of real people. This contrast makes his character look foolish even while his dress and
manners are supposed to shame the Irish characters. Bentham represents Britain, but while he
gets away without being held accountable, the audience sees the validity of the colonized Irish as
real human beings, convincingly more genuine and real than Bentham.
Bentham's role as a colonizer goes even further in the play when he sexually colonizes
Mary's body. His action further demonstrates Mary's youth. Earlier she fights for her principles,
but later it is revealed she has given Bentham the most important principle to an Irish Catholic
girl. The moment of revelation about her pregnancy is also the moment of disappearance for
Bentham. Like colonizing countries, he has taken what he wanted and left without being held
responsible for his actions. Bentham, the colonizer, profits most from this relationship.
Unfortunately, Mary is left with the consequences, and from this experience she gains the
maturity she lacked earlier in the play. Having chosen Bentham over Jerry, she cannot return to
Jerry. When he discovers her secret, he says, "My God, Mary, have you fallen as low as that?"
(O'Casey 52). She replies a few lines later, "it's only as I expected – your humanity is just as
narrow as the humanity of others" (O'Casey 52). She does not expect Jerry to rescue her, but she
regrets the decision she has made even though it is too late. In parallel, the choice for
independence Ireland made causes the Civil War to follow quickly afterwards. By then it was too
late to make another choice.
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When the Captain hears of Mary's troubles, he is outraged. He says, “I’m tellin’ you
when I’m done she’ll be a sorry girl!” (O'Casey 48), and then later threatens to kick out her. He
blames her misfortunes on her being educated enough to read, and thus independent.
Her an’ her readin’! That’s more o’this blasted nonsense that has the house fallin’ down
on top of us! What did the likes of her, born in a tenement house, want with readin’? Her
readin’s afther bringin’ her to a nice pass – oh, it’s madnin’, madnin’, madnin’! (O’Casey
48)
The Captain sums up the position of the colonized country represented by Mary. He sees her
desire to escape her place in society as a wrong which caused more problems. O’Casey’s own
political beliefs suggested Ireland’s wish for freedom would only make the country worse, and
the Irish Civil War that came after Ireland’s freedom proved his point. Rather than ridding the
country of one form of tyranny, the Irish citizens put in place another form of ruling class, and
this new government is what Mary represents. She tries to rebel and become free, but instead is
forced to live with her aunt under conditions that arguably could be worse than where she
started. Jack Mitchell indicates that Mary’s desire to escape, first through Jerry and then through
Bentham, almost causes her downfall because “Both these men corrupt and almost destroy their
working-class victim” (46). Mary cannot move up because she is not ready, and the illusion of
being free almost destroys her, just like the dream and then reality of Ireland’s freedom which
almost destroys the entire country and its people's hopes and dreams.
If Mary represents the youthful government of Ireland after the 1916 Rising, Johnny
represents the war torn and crippled Ireland after the 1916 Rising and the Civil War. He is an
invalid. A bomb injured his hip during the 1916 Rising, and he lost his arm during the Irish Civil
war. In another Irish story his character might be considered a hero for the feats he has
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performed, but in O'Casey's play Johnny is depicted as a parasite because he cannot help Juno
support the family. Upset at her son's inability to help, Juno tells Mary, "He wore out the Health
Insurance long ago, he's afther wearing out the unemployment dole, an' now he's thryin' to wear
me out!" (O'Casey 9). A few lines later she continues criticizing him and his decision to fight,
saying, "I knew he was making a fool o'himself. God knows I went down on me bended knees to
him not to go agen the Free State" (O'Casey 10). Juno had begged him not to fight because she
did not think the Easter 1916 Rising was the right thing to do, and now that her son, and Ireland,
have been crippled, she reminds everyone war has only brought more poverty and work.
Juno is upset that Johnny has given so much to his country, but he argues he fought for
his principles and he would do it again if he had to. Throughout the play, Mary claims to be
fighting for principles, but she never really explains what those principles are. At the end, it
appears she did not even know which religious principles to believe in. In contrast, Johnny's
principles are clear from the beginning. He fought for a free Ireland to the point of becoming
crippled, and he claims he would do it again. But at the beginning of the play, Johnny seems
disturbed by the current status of the war. Juno returns home and begins talking to Mary about
the death of Robbie Tancred, their neighbor's son. Mary begins to give a description of the son's
death and Johnny jumps up and says, "Oh, quit that readin', for God's sake! Are you losin' all
your feelin's? It'll soon be that none o'yous'll read anythin' that not about butcherin'!" (O'Casey
8). Later the audience realizes he is upset about the article because he is the one who betrayed
Robbie, and consequently he has been the cause of Robbie's death. While Mary had no
principles, Johnny is a hypocrite, which is far worse and his hypocrisy leads to his own death.
Johnny's hypocrisy demonstrates that a country torn by war, like Ireland, has no boundary
between public and private. David Waterman argues Johnny has tried to avoid the war by not
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going to it, but in the end the war comes to him. Johnny as a war veteran, "having seen the reality
of war behind the performance of nationalism, has changed his mind about the ideals of
patriotism and duty" (Waterman 65). Like some other Irish at the time, he recognizes the rhetoric
of nationalism and is unhappy with the new government that has come into power.
Unfortunately, the only thing he can do about it is betray his principles and betray his comrade.
This does not stop the new government, and it does not stop the war; it only brings paranoia into
Johnny's life. During Act II he thinks he sees Robbie's ghost. Juno comes to see what is wrong,
and he tells her:
I seen him... I seen Robbie Tancred kneelin' down before the statue [. . .] an' when I went
in, he turned and looked at me... [. . .] Oh, why did he look at me like that?.... It wasn't
my fault that he was done in... Mother o'God, keep him away from me!" (O'Casey 30)
Johnny's guilt and paranoia are starting to destroy his life, but he cannot change the choice he
made, and he knows that eventually the war will find him again.
After Robbie's funeral passes the Boyles' tenement, a soldier comes and finds Johnny. He
informs Johnny they expect him to be at a meeting to help them discover who betrayed Robbie.
Johnny shouts, "I won't go! Haven't I done enough for Ireland! I've lost me arm, an' me hip's
desthroyed so that I'll never be able to walk right agen! Good God, haven't I done enough for
Ireland?" (O'Casey 39). Johnny asks a question close to the heart of other Irish, but as much as
he tries to avoid participating, he cannot escape; the war finds him. The violence and war in
Ireland are not something the people can avoid. Most of them are a part of the war because the
war comes to them.
At the end of the play, Johnny is killed by his comrades for the betrayal of Robbie. His
death symbolizes the final consequences for betrayal and hypocrisy, both faults Ireland must be
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held accountable for in O'Casey's play. His death also fuses the domestic drama of the family and
the politics and war that were the setting of the play. When he is killed, Juno can no longer
pretend the war does not exist, because it has invaded her home and touched her directly. Like
Juno, many Irish did not support the 1916 Rising. Some had sons fighting in WWI, and some did
not think the Irish could win. After the rebellion was quelled, the British executed the leaders of
the movement. When the British executed the rebels, they inadvertently created martyrs and
unified Ireland. The people who had not previously supported the war were now outraged at
British actions. The same thing happens to Juno when Johnny is killed. Earlier in the play the
death of Mrs. Tancred's son does not really affect Juno. It is a matter for a piece of gossip, but it
does not change her mind about the war or how she feels about those dying in the war. When she
comes home to find the police have found Johnny, her attitude changes. Here she offers her great
speech crying out for the help of God. She remembers Mrs. Tancred and says, "Maybe I didn't
feel sorry enough for Mrs. Tancred when her poor son was found as Johnny's been found now –
because he was a Die-hard! Ah, why didn't I remember that he wasn't a Die-hard or a Stater, but
only a poor dead son!" (O'Casey 56). Johnny's death brings the Irish Civil War into his family's
house, and it reminds Juno of the bitter equality of a mother's loss.
Johnny's betrayal also represents the betrayal of Southern Ireland. When Ireland was
fighting for its freedom, the country was split about independence. Nothern Ireland, the majority
of the counties being Protestant, wanted to stay part of Britain. Southern Ireland, the majority
being Catholic, wanted to break free. The Catholic Irish in Northern Ireland also wanted to be
free, and Michael Collins, head of the Irish Republican Army, was fighting for a unified, free
Ireland. The country, however could not come to a united decision. With the threat of war from
Britain if a treaty was not agreed upon, Collins and the rest of the Irish delegation signed a treaty
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on December 6, 1921, officially dividing the Irish Free State and the province of Northern
Ireland into separate political entities (Coohill 132). Collins' signing of the treaty was seen as a
betrayal of the Irish, and the Civil war erupted. Johnny's betrayal of his close friend is a
representation of this betrayal of the counties in Northern Ireland.
Ronan Mcdonald claims Johnny "is the figure who most represents the Ireland of which,
and from which O'Casey writes. [. . .] The betrayal, however, is a pained glance at Civil War
Ireland, too traumatic to be more than obliquely incorporated into the main action of the play"
(145). Both betrayals, the treaty's and Johnny's, brought about the deaths of the fictional Johnny
and the real Collins. Shakir Mustafa contends that "O'Casey's portrayal of Johnny voids
republicanism of any sustaining vigor and thus denies narrative sequence to the movement"
(101). Johnny's character, someone who may have been deified in another play, is used to show
O'Casey's and other Irish citizens' disillusionment with the Republican movement, which fought
for a united Ireland, but then gave up only to create more war.
Johnny further represents an awareness and understanding of history. O'Casey seems to
be arguing the cause of events must be understood in order to learn how to crawl out from under
them. Bernice Schrank posits, "From the Johnny story it is clear that, for O'Casey, an
understanding of historical processes is fundamental to life. Without an appreciation of historical
causality, there can be no improvement in the intolerable conditions that beset the Boyles" (444).
Schrank is suggesting the Boyles must understand the causes of their poverty in order to escape
them, and Johnny is the representation of that intersection between cause and effect. Critics have
argued O'Casey does not address the causes of poverty, but through Johnny he shows people
must be aware of the causes of poverty and war to stop them from repeating.
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Mary and Johnny, as representative of Ireland, show an Ireland in conflict. Jack Boyle, or
the Captain, derives his identity through money and therefore demonstrates the power of poverty
on the identity of Ireland. Even though he is poor throughout the entire play, he struts about town
like a peacock, or "paycock," spending his wife's money. After he learns he will inherit money
from a wealthy cousin, his identity changes. He swears he will cut his friend Joxer out of his life
(although he never actually follows through on this promise), and his attitudes and thoughts on
politics and family life change. Schrank claims that "money makes the man, but man cannot
make the money" (439). The Captain embodies this saying by becoming a man when he has
money. Before he is given the money he cannot seem to escape his poor situation. Granted, he
does not work hard to make money, but no matter what his wife or children do to get out of the
slums, they only escape when they are given a meager part of the Captain's inheritance. They
never make enough money themselves to make a difference or change their identity. During
O'Casey's time living near the tenements, he watched many poor people try to make money.
Although they worked long hours, they were never able to get themselves out of poverty. In the
Captain's case, he is able only to briefly rise to the middle class because he is given the money,
not because he makes the money.
Because the Boyles have never been taught how to budget or save their money, the
Captain and his family are not wise with their money. Nicholas Grene states the family's
spending of money in the second act "represents the thoughtless extravagance of a class too poor
even to have learned the habits of saving" (129). In this respect, they directly represent the poor
Irish O'Casey knew. They spend much of it before they are even given the money and then find
out they will not be actually receiving any money. McDonald posits that "The narrative uses a
stock melodramatic plot—fortune supposedly inherited then lost—as a mockingly blunt allegory
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for the disappointment of Irish national independence" (143). The Boyles are frustrated in their
dreams of escape, just as Ireland is frustrated in its independence. The final scene depicts the
furniture men arriving to move everything out of the house to pay off the creditors. Joxer and the
Captain have returned from the pub completely drunk as usual. This scene physically represents
the "chassis" the Captain speaks about in his last line, "I'm tellin' you...Joxer...th'whole worl's...
in a terr...ible state o'.....chassis!" (O'Casey 56). The Captain is disappointed by the promise of
wealth and happiness, and he is left with chaos and anarchy (considering the rebellion of his
wife) in his house. Ireland, disappointed by the promise of freedom, is left with the same chaos
and anarchy represented in this scene.
As the Captain is commenting on the world, he is also making an ironic comment on his
own life, his own house, and, consequently, his own country. The room he enters has the shutters
closed, indicating there has been a death in the family, but he is too drunk to notice his son has
been killed. This scene between the Captain and Joxer comes to represent the anarchy that is the
backdrop for this play, or the Irish Civil War. The family, which is in a constant state of chaos
throughout the play, represents the chaos found in Ireland at the time of this play's setting and,
especially, its writing. While his final moments are comic and give the audience relief from the
dramatic monologue of Juno just a few lines earlier, there is an edge to the words. Mitchell
argues the end "enables us to appreciate that Juno and her action are still an exception and that
the Irish scene remains largely defined by the Boyles and Joxers and the helpless anarchy for
which they stand" (73). The Captain, of all the characters, sums up the state of Ireland in this
final scene.
The Captain's poverty forces him to escape through his imagination. The world of fantasy
he creates is typical of the Irish ability to create fantasy out of horror. The Irish have a rich
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history of stories and mythical figures. Some of these stories have become entwined with the
history of Ireland partly because of their colonized past. When Ireland began to seek
independence, the Irish people invented their own form of nationalism and based it on the great
Irish heroes found in their myths. The Captain does a similar thing with his personal history. He
constantly invents tales that never actually happened, and O'Casey carefully juxtaposes these
tales with situations from reality. Mitchell argues the Captain is the embodiment of the theme of
escape throughout the play. He escapes through imagination, which is a characteristic of the Irish
people the Captain represents (52). During Act I, Joxer and the Captain are sneaking some
breakfast from Juno and the Captain begins to tell a story about being a captain on a ship:
Them was days, Joxer, them was days. Nothin' was too hot or heavy for me then. Sailin'
from the Gulf o'Mexico to the Antarctic Ocean. I seen things, I seen things, Joxer, that no
mortal man should speak about that knows his Catechism. [. . .] an' the win's blowin
fierce and the waves lashin' an' lashin', 'til you'd think every minute was goin't to be your
last, an' it blowed, an' blowed – blew is the right word, Joxer, but blowed is what the
sailors use... (O'Casey 19-20)
Later we learn from Juno the Captain was never a captain but just rode on a ship once from
Ireland to Liverpool. She discredits his story and the audience is left wondering what else the
Captain has said that might be false. He believes in his own stories, even covering for his
bungled language when he claims that "blew is the right work, Joxer, but blowed is what the
sailors use." His stories seem authentic because he really believes them, but the audience is made
aware of his story-telling.
Just as Bentham must be mentioned in conjunction with Mary, Joxer should be discussed
side-by-side with the Captain. The relationship between Joxer and the Captain is an effect of the
Neumann 17
Captain's poverty and represents the Captain's inability to break free of the slums. He is forced to
associate with people like Joxer and is unable to network with people, perhaps like Bentham,
who could help him change social positions. Joxer's friendship only hurts the Captain, and
towards the end we begin to see the true nature of Joxer. When Joxer learns the will is not going
to materialize, Joxer encourages his friend Nungent to go in and steal a coat the Captain has
purchased from Nungent but cannot pay for. When Joxer goes into the Captain's house, he does
not admit he knows about or encouraged the theft of the coat. Throughout the play, Joxer
displays very little kindness for the Captain, instead using the Captain for his own gains. This
relationship is a more subtle expression of the colonizer/colonized. While both men are Irish,
Joxer is playing the role of colonizer. He takes from the Captain what he wants and offers little
in return. The Captain chooses not to leave Joxer, even at the pleading of his wife. Even during
Act II when he says he'll no longer be friends with Joxer, he continues to invite him over. At the
end they are left together in a terrible state of anarchy, watching the world crumble around them.
The only difference is, as the colonizer, Joxer can walk away and not be directly affected by the
Captain's troubles, whereas the Captain will be left with little in his life through the exploitation
of the colonizer.
Joxer's character, while acting as parasite and colonizer of the Captain, reveals
undertones of a colonized existence. Through Joxer's speech, we see what happens to the identity
of language and literature in a colonized country. Schrank claims that Joxer "manages to debase
his literary sources" and "His reiteration of borrowed language is the appropriate expression of
his secondhand existence" (451). His secondhand existence represents the secondhand existence
colonized countries live. Their literature is an appropriated construct of the colonizer's literature
and their language is usually not even their own, as in the case of Ireland when they lost Irish and
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began to speak English. Joxer's stealing of the literature is an example of another country's
values and language being forced onto the colonized country. He never misquotes Irish literature;
in fact, he actually never quotes Irish literature. Instead his quotes come from misappropriated
uses of British literature.
The last act demonstrates the crushing blow money gives to the Captain. He does not
receive the money and therefore slips back into the poverty-stricken man he was before. Rather
than do something to help his family, especially his daughter Mary, he chooses to go drinking
with Joxer once again. The Captain cannot see a way to fix his problem, and so O'Casey has him
resort to a common Irish solution—drink. Out of all the characters in the play the Captain is the
stereotypical depiction of a drunk, lazy, tale-telling Irishman. He claims he fought in the Rising,
but this is never proven in the play. Throughout the first act, Juno tries to find him a job, but he
refuses to work because of some mysterious ailment in his legs. When he finds out about the
money, he figures he is saved and will not have to work. Grene argues the Captain "is a comic
embodiment of the shiftless working-class father, a kind of walking illustration of Oscar Wilde's
proposition that work is the curse of the drinking classes" (128). The Irish are frequently
depicted as lazy, drunk, and unwilling to seek employment. The Captain embodies this
stereotype, which directly contradicts his family members who are depicted as mostly hard-working
and honest. This comparison makes the modern stereotype seem even more ludicrous,
and he cannot be taken as a serious representation of all Irish citizens.
The Irish stereotype is further perpetuated through O'Casey's use of the typical stage-Irish
performance. Theatre-goers of the twentieth century had come to expect a stock type of Irish
character, and the Captain fulfills this description. Scholars have criticized O'Casey's depiction
of his Irish families because they embody stereotypes of the typical stage-Irishman, but Mitchell
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argues the Captain is only a stage-Irishman if performed incorrectly. He claims the Captain "will
have dignity, even if it is a ridiculous dignity," and the performance of the Captain can give him
the right touch of dignity and foolishness (66). The right performance can remind the audience of
the stereotypes of a stage-Irishman juxtaposed against the reality of being Irish. The Captain is
almost always drunk, refuses to work, has his best relationship with another man, continually
uses his imagination as an escape, and his language is uneducated. At times he tries to act as if he
is intelligent, which further perpetuates the comical effect of his character.
When he is talking to Bentham about religion, Bentham explains that he is a Theosophist.
When Boyle tries to explain the religion, he says, "A Theosophist, Juno's a—tell her, Mr.
Bentham, tell her" (O'Casey 29). He cannot admit he does not actually know what it is, but he
pretends like he does. Later he says, "Yogi! I seen hundhreds of them in the streets o'San
Francisco" (O'Casey 29). The Captain clearly does not know what he is talking about, and his
statement makes him look ridiculous because he has never been to San Francisco and everyone
knows it. Even though the Captain embodies characteristics of the stage-Irishman, O'Casey
depicts him in such a way to make us both like and loathe him. We want the carefree attitude he
carries, but we cannot understand his inability to grasp reality. His stereotypical behavior is only
stereotypical because we all see piece of it in ourselves. O'Casey is not saying all Irish are like
the Captain, but all Irish have moments of the ridiculous.
The Captain and Juno are juxtaposed as opposites. Juno is practical and realistic while the
Captain is lazy and carefree. Grene posits that "The Captain stands for drink, talk, the public-house,
the pleasure principle; Juno stands for work, the home, the family, the reality principle"
(129). This dynamic does not predispose the audience to like Juno, because she represents
reality, and the Captain's predisposition for pleasure reminds the audience of their own desires to
Neumann 20
seek after pleasure rather than reality. At times the Captain's and Juno's opposite
characterizations garner sympathy for the Captain. Juno is constantly nagging him, and his desire
for escape is understandable. McDonald argues, "Part of us feels we ought to spurn Boyle, yet
we cannot help being lured by his scandalous behaviour, just as we cannot help being somewhat
irked by Juno's tedious good sense" (143). The Captain's ability to slip into a world full of
imagination is a tool he uses to escape the dreary world around him. Juno does not have this tool,
or does not wish to use it, and this tool appears to be useful in comparison to the Boyles' family
life. While Juno is heroic, and her actions are commendable the only time she forgets about
working is in Act II when she has money and no longer has to worry about surviving. The
Captain, while never heroic, always seems human. They represent two pieces of Ireland: Ireland
as reality and Ireland as myth. Juno ends up the hero, showing the triumph of Ireland's actual
principles, but the Captain has the last word, proving that Ireland will is often defined and
identified with its myths.
Juno, the last character to be analyzed, is the most important character of the play
because, as a woman and mother of the Boyles, she represents Mother Ireland. Throughout this
paper, Juno has repeatedly been discussed in connection with each character. None of the
characters can be fully interpreted without mentioning their connection to Juno. There are two
important sides to Juno, and both will be covered here. The first is that Juno, as a woman and a
mother, represents Ireland in its entirety. Historically, Ireland is represented as a woman and by
women. Errol Durbach proposes that "Ireland as a mother, [. . .] is another of the play's
informing metaphors" (19). In Juno and the Paycock, Juno is Mother Ireland. She is the hard-working
figure of reality the men choose to fight for, the figure that represents their country. In
this play she becomes a heroic figure like other Irish mythological figures. David Krause states,
Neumann 21
"In the stoical and proud figure of Juno Boyle [O'Casey] created his own symbol of Cathleen ni
Houlihan, a black-shawled woman of the tenements who had a heart instead of a harp or a gun"
(128). Juno is a strong figure who keeps the family together and provides for them spiritually and
physically.
Juno is primarily depicted as the hero of the family. Mitchell paints her as the "master
myth-destroyer and puncturer of puffed-up peacockery" (55). He continues by suggesting she
fears principles, defends her family, and tries not to draw attention to her or her family (55). At
the beginning of the play Juno is returning home with the groceries. Her role is defined as the
mother with this simple introduction, but her character is deepened through the interactions she
has with the Captain and the children. She is more than a mother; she is their moral center and
she provides them with guidance. She criticizes Mary for wanting to walk out of her job, but
when Mary is in trouble, she walks away from her own husband and gives up everything for
Mary. At times she can be harsh on Johnny, but when he really needs her, during Act II and
when he is gone, the audience sees her total love and devotion for him. She is not easily fooled
by the Captain—at one point telling him "Look here, Mr. Jacky Boyle, them yarns won't go
down with Juno. I know you an' Joxer Daly of an oul' date, an', if you think you're able to come it
over me with them fairy tales, you're in the wrong shop" (O'Casey 13). At times her relationship
with the Captain becomes wearisome because of her constant nagging, but he needs prodding
because she is obviously forced to run the family on her own.
During Act II, her worries are lifted and her role as the caregiver of her family becomes
more prominent. Rather than being upset and frustrated by her family's unwillingness to help her
pay the bills, she has been given money and therefore the freedom to be a mother. She even
shows kindness to her husband at times, although she does not stop worrying about the amount
Neumann 22
of debt they are getting into with all of the things they have purchased. When the Captain gets up
to recite a poem, she says, "God bless us, is he startin' to write poetry?" (O'Casey 31), but she is
not criticizing his newfound pastimes because she recognizes he does not need to work as he did
before. In the middle of this act, she shows great kindness towards Johnny when he thinks he
sees Robbie's ghost. After he screams out, she goes in to comfort him, offering to sit with him as
long as he would like and saying "There, there, child, you've imagined it all" (O'Casey 31). Her
attitude towards Johnny directly contradicts what she says and does in the first act. There he asks
for water and she complains about having to serve him and his inability to contribute money to
the household. Now she can care for him and allows him to be sick because money is no longer
necessary.
Act II also shows Juno's further softening towards principles. In the beginning she refuses
to believe in principles. When Johnny claims he would fight for Ireland again because "a
principle's a principle," Juno responds with "Ah, you lost your best principle, me boy, when you
lost your arm; them's the only sort of principles that's any good to a workin' man" (O'Casey 22).
Juno's reality is rooted in the day-to-day survival of her family; she cannot afford to adhere to
some sort of principle, like fighting for a country that has given her nothing, or walking out on a
job because another worker was treated unfairly. When she has money and the fear of survival is
removed somewhat, she can begin to think about others. The Captain claims they have nothing to
do with the death of Robbie, but Juno responds with:
I'd like to know how a body's not to mind these things; look at the way they're afther
leavin' the people in this very house. Hasn't the whole house, nearly, been massacreed?
[. . .] an' now, poor Mrs. Tancred's only child gone West with his body made a colander
of. Sure if it's not our business, I don't know whose business it is. (O'Casey 36)
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As a symbol for Ireland, she is finally claiming unity with the other working-class people. She is
not just fighting for her own survival, but claiming solidarity with those around her who have
suffered in this war. Ireland must stick together to survive these wars, and it must recognize the
suffering of its working-class.
The second piece of Juno's character is her human qualities and her weaknesses. In the
end of the play Juno comes across as the hero, but O'Casey does not completely deify her. She
has moments of weakness in the play, and at times her character is not always liked. Juno's
constant nagging and criticizing of her children has already been addressed in connection with
the Captain and Johnny, so I will not repeat it here, but those moments of imperfection prove to
make her easier to understand and appreciate. Declan Kiberd defines Juno as a "[. . .] sarcastic
metaphor for what [O'Casey] derided as the fake inheritance of Irish Republicanism" (219).
Those fighting for the freedom of Ireland ended up with a free Ireland, but as we see in Juno,
Ireland is not perfect and is eventually split in the end. The promise of independence gives
Ireland freedom and peace. Juno represents when the promise of money in Act II gives her
freedom and peace. Act II destroys this peace when the war is brought into her home. The Irish
Civil War destroys the peace of independence for Ireland shortly after freedom was gained.
If Juno is the "sarcastic metaphor" for Irish Republicanism, she shows what happened to
Ireland once it achieved independence: it was split. O'Casey uses Juno to show the end result of
everyone claiming to fight for Ireland. The leaders of the different political groups were faced
with a tough decision, and in order to save the country, they signed a treaty which split the
country. This split caused the Irish Civil War. Juno's split from the family could cause a similar
war. Legally, Juno could not divorce her husband, and Mary, as discussed earlier, would have
been a social outcast. Juno chooses to leave her husband anyway to live with her sister, but the
Neumann 24
Captain would be allowed to go and retrieve her at any time. This violent retrieval would almost
certainly result in Mary not coming with them, since the Captain would not allow her to return to
the family being pregnant. The family would be split once again, only this time by the
unhappiness of Juno. Each resultant fight and split would only cause more violence, and this
family dynamic represents the violent splits going on in Ireland at the writing of the play.
Even though Juno is presented as a strong capable woman, and this aspect of her
characterization represents Ireland, in the end she is quite powerless and weak. She cannot
actually make her husband work, she does not stop her son from dying, and she cannot stop
Mary from being pregnant. Krause sums up her character and its representation of Ireland with
this statement: "But in the ironic context of the play, Ireland is no greater than her mothers and
wives for whom bloodshed has indeed become the final horror" (130). Juno's final horror is the
realization of her powerlessness in the face of so many forces affecting her family. Ireland's final
horror is much the same: a realization it cannot stop the violence and bloodshed that began with
the 1916 Rising. In her powerful final monologue, she cries "Sacred Heart of Jesus, take away
our hearts o'stone, an' give us hearts o'flesh! Take away this murdherin' hate, an' give us Thine
own eternal love!" (O'Casey 56). Her cry seems to capture the cry of most Irish citizens. Take
away their desire for hate and murder and give them hearts of flesh so that this violence might
end.
In the last scene, Juno and Mary are forced to leave their home, one further sign of Juno's
weakness. Juno realizes she cannot support her drunken husband and her pregnant daughter, and
Mary cannot stay there in her condition. Their leaving is a metaphor for the only option left to
those in Ireland disappointed by the political decisions that had been made and the wars that had
resulted. Mary and Juno both flee from their disappointments: Juno flees her disappointing
Neumann 25
husband and the lack of a chance for an inheritance, and Mary flees the disappointment she has
in Bentham's abandonment. Unfortunately, Mary and Juno cannot escape much further than to a
different neighborhood in the city. Juno and Mary flee to Juno's sister's apartment in another
tenement with conditions not much better than those they have just escaped. Escaping was not
really an option for the Irish people, and even if it was, most of the Irish did not have a place to
go that would be much better than the country they had recently created.
O'Casey's Ireland, as portrayed by the Boyles, was poor, violent, and devoid of hope.
Thirty years later, in 1954, Brendan Behan began writing plays about Ireland that depicted the
Irish in a similar way. Kiberd and other scholars have called Behan O'Casey's successor because
he wrote about the Dublin poor and his drama was realism rather than the absurdism of his
contemporary Beckett. The Quare Fellow, first performed at the Pike Theatre on November 19,
1954, is Behan's best play. The characters and setting are a reflection of Behan's Ireland. Mary
Trotter claims the prison can be read as a metaphor for human existence when she states, “Yet
the drama also draws from Behan’s own prison experience and hints at the way individuals in the
prison have fallen through the social fabric” (132). Her reading of the play as a metaphor is
insightful, but I wish to take it further by applying the metaphor specifically to the Irish people
rather than to humanity as a whole. For me, the metaphor of the prison represents four specific
aspects of Ireland and the Irish people. First, the prisoners represent the state of the Irish people:
poor, oppressed, and clinging to a class system as a sense of identity specifically different than
the British middle class. Second, the prison represents Ireland or the country the people are now
trapped in, which is not as glorious as the Free State promised. Third, the Hangman represents
the small part of British left over after Ireland had declared independence; and fourth, the
Neumann 26
Warders and people in power in the prison represent the new form of oppression the Irish people
have put into the government.
Before the specifics of the play can be addressed, some of Irish history from the 1930's to
the 1950's must be reviewed. Throughout Behan's life Ireland was in a state of conflict and
growth. The IRB had become the Irish Republican Army (IRA) shortly after the declaration of
Ireland's independence in 1921 and was still fighting to unite the country. Southern Ireland, Eire,
was still a part of Britain in many respects until May 1, 1937, when the External Relations Act
was made a law. This made Eire a Republic in all but name (Coohill 153). Ireland did not
become officially separated until Easter Monday, April 18, 1949 (Coohill 157). From 1921 until
its official independence in 1949, Eire fought an economic war with Britain, its own civil war,
and maintained neutrality during World War II. Meanwhile Northern Ireland remained a part of
Great Britain, and the official act creating Eire as a Republic made sure Northern Ireland could
stay a part of the British parliament for as long as it wanted. The IRA still fought for a united
Ireland, even though most Irish were happy with the separation officially established in 1949,
and this continued to cause violence in Ireland and Britain.
The events in Behan's life were caused by the constant violence in Ireland, and elements
of his own life story are important to mention in order to fully understand The Quare Fellow. In
many ways, Behan’s life story is as popular, if not more so, than his plays. This can make it, at
times, hard to separate the man from his works. As Christopher Murray explains, "While other
writers of the 1940s and 1950s struggled to find and shape images of the growing unfinished
nation Behan was the nation itself, loved, lovable and forever in search of completion" (150). He
was born in 1923 after the Irish Civil War had ended, and while his father was in jail for being a
member of the IRA. His mother was also a devout Republican patriot who has been compared to
Neumann 27
Cathleen ní Houlihan (Murray 149). At a young age Behan became part of the IRA, and he
fought for a unified Ireland. By the time he was sixteen he was on his way to Liverpool with a
suitcase full of explosives. No one is sure what he was going to blow up, because he was caught
before he could do anything and sent to prison for three years.
In 1942 he was arrested again for the attempted murder of a detective and was released in
1946 due to the general amnesty for all IRA prisoners at that time. According to Trotter, he was
arrested once again a year later for attempting to help an IRA prisoner escape (131-132). He
spent eight years of his life in prison, and the setting for his most acclaimed play, The Quare
Fellow, reflects this experience. Most scholars agree the play is based on Bernard Kirnian, who
butchered his brother with a knife and buried the body parts around the family farm. Behan knew
Kirnian at Mountjoy Prison (where this play is set) right before Kirnian was executed for the
crime. Some scholars suggest the play could also be related to the IRA members who were
executed for the same crime Behan was in prison for: attempted murder of a detective. Behan
escaped hanging for that crime.
With an understanding of the background on both Behan's life and Ireland the play's
themes can be be analyzed. Most critics argue The Quare Fellow is an anti-capitalist play, and
some even go as far as to call it a propaganda piece. While the play has anti-capitalist tones and
frequently indicts hanging for being barbaric, I will focus on the play's overall contribution to
post-colonial writing and Behan's description of post-independence Ireland. Behan continues
O'Casey's narrative by telling Ireland's story through the poor, who are now found in prison.
John Brannigan suggests, “Behan’s characters in The Quare Fellow are drawn mostly from what
he referred to as ‘O’Casey’s battalion,’ the north side tenement dwellers of Dublin who scraped a
living through petty crime and casual labour” (81). In Behan's play, the prisoners have been
Neumann 28
caught and punished for their petty crimes. The prison functions like the tenements in O’Casey’s
play: the people who come in are rarely let back out, no matter how hard they try to fight against
the oppression and government that exists.
The first aspect of the metaphor I will discuss is how the prison represents the 1950s class
system of Ireland. This class system is a large part of the play and therefore will be the largest
part of my discussion. The action of the play takes place over the twenty-four hours before an
execution. The man being executed is the Quare Fellow who murdered his brother by chopping
him up and bleeding him into the bog. The other prisoners, either given letters for names (A-D)
or generic names like Neighbour, Lifer, and Dunlavin, are serving terms for various crimes.
Sanford Sternlict relates Behan’s naming of the prisoners to the ultimate theme of the play by
arguing, “identity, [is] reduced in the prison to a card on the cell with a name, religion, and the
length of the sentence—in other words, the roll call of life itself” (115). Even though the
characters are rarely given any other identity than the cards of the wall, as stated by Sternlict,
they still manage to develop a class system, placing themselves above or below fellow prisoners.
The ultimate class division between prisoners and warders represents Ireland and its class
divisions after the 1921 independence and the Irish Civil War. The Dublin poor had little left, but
they still managed to rank each other, much like the prisoners in this play.
While class systems are not uncommon within societies, the system developed in the
prison can be seen as something uniquely Irish, similar to the class system in O’Casey’s and
Friel’s plays. The British left the country, and their leaving caused a hole in the Irish government
and in the class system of the cities. That hole was filled by the Irish government, and the gap in
the class system was filled with a new structure created by the Dublin poor to make up for the
one displaced when the British left. In this system, the closer the Irish got to being British, the
Neumann 29
higher class and more despised they became. The characters found inside the prison are those
people in Irish society who fell through the cracks as Ireland began to form its own country.
Even though the prisoners are all essentially the same in prison, they have still developed
a class system. Prisoner D most clearly demonstrates this difference because he chooses to
uphold the class system. He has been put in jail for embezzlement and considers himself above
the others. Prisoner C tells him what Warder Regan believes about capital punishment, and
Prisoner D declares he will tell the minister, because, after all, he "went to school with his [the
minister's] cousin" (Behan 94). This makes him appear better than the other prisoners. To further
illustrate he is better than the other prisoners, he makes sure they know his nephew is going to
Sandhurst and he went to Parkhusrt. This designation lets them know he does not consider Irish
education to be equal to British education, even though he is Irish and now in an Irish prison.
PRISONER C. [to others]. A college educated man in here, funny isn't it?
PRISONER D. I shall certainly bring all my influence to bear to settle this Regan fellow.
PRISONER C. You must be a very important man, sir.
PRISONER D. I am one of the Cashel Carrolls, my boy, related on my mother's side to
the Killens of Killcock. (Behan 95)
Prisoner D does not finish until he has informed everyone of his lineage, which shows them how
important he must be. At the end of the play, even though most of the prisoners do not have
much respect for Prisoner D, he is still the leader and businessman they look to when they steal
the Quare Fellow's letters. This is the moment when he becomes no better than the other
prisoners because he essentially performs the crime he has been put in prison for, despite all of
his suggestions that he is above the other prisoners.
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While Prisoner D considers himself to be better, Lifer's class is determined for him by
Dunlavin and the others. Before he appears, the prisoners gossip about why Lifer was reprieved
and the Quare Fellow was not. Dunlavin and Prisoner A strip the reasons down to class:
PRISONER A. Well, I suppose they looked at it, he only killed her and left it at that. He
didn't cut the corpse up afterwards with a butcher's knife.
DUNLAVIN. Yes, and then of course the other fellow used a meat-chopper. Real bog-man
act. Nearly as bad as a shotgun, or getting the weed-killer mixed up in the stir-about.
But a man with a silver-topped cane, that's a man that's a cut above meat-choppers
whichever way you look at it. (Behan 42)
Dunlavin continues by saying, "Killing your wife is a natural class of thing could happen to the
best of us" (Behan 43). Lifer has already been given a better class than the Quare Fellow, simply
because his murder act appears to be less barbaric than the Quare Fellow's. Dunlavin even seems
to imply that Lifer must be classy because of the type of cane he has, and he suggests Lifer
cannot be blamed for killing his wife: everyone has moments when they could kill a spouse.
This class system extends beyond the prison walls and seems to be embraced by the
authorities that reprieved Lifer. Kiberd proposes:
The absurdism of the prisoners’ world leads them to rate a man who killed his wife
cleanly with the chop of a silver-topped cane above the Quare Fellow, who apparently
used a meat-cleaver to chop his brother to bits. Even more spooky, however, is the fact
that such thinking seems to be shared by the authorities, who spare Silver-Top but
execute the Quare Fellow. (518)
Kiberd calls the prisoners absurd for creating this class system that ranks murderers, but their
system is only a reflection of the Irish world they came from. The prisons have accepted that the
Neumann 31
government ranks one type of murder above another, and they have integrated that ranking
system into their own society. The thinking of the prisoners is also a reflection of the Dublin
poor. They started a class system that gives even the most absurd crimes value, just like the
tenements dwellers who gave those will little a greater value than those with nothing. In the
larger metaphor of Ireland the prison represents, the characters need to define themselves beyond
the card on the wall and beyond the valueless identity left behind by the British.
When Lifer walks on stage for the first time, the stage notes indicate he has a "good
accent" (Behan 49), which further distinguishes his class as higher than the other prisoners. This
emphasis on language and its relation to class is further explored later in the play through the use
of Irish. Through conversation with Prisoner A, Lifer demonstrates he even thinks of himself as a
cut above those with whom he will be neighbors in jail. When Prisoner A asks him what he did
with his cigarette butts while he was waiting to be hanged, Lifer replies, "Threw them in the fire"
(Behan 49). The other prisoners are upset over this and cannot understand why the Quare Fellow
has left them "a trail of butts" (Behan 49), but Lifer was unable to provide this small piece of
relief for the prisoners. Lifer claims he did not know he was supposed to do that because he has
never been in prison before. His response indicates his higher class because he does not
understand prison rules and only the lower class people would be familiar with this code.
His response also indicates everyone else in prison, including the Quare Fellow, must be
poor and of a lower class because their poverty has caused them to spend most of their lives in
jail becoming familiar with jail code. An irate Prisoner A accuses him of being a liar:
You're a curse of God liar, my friend, you did know; for it was whispered to him by the
fellows from the hospital bringing over the grub to the condemned cell. He never gave
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them as much as a match! And he couldn't even bring his dog-ends to the exercise yard
and drop them behind for us to pick up when we came out later. (Behan 50)
Even though Lifer knew the rules, he decided to disregard them because he felt he was above
them. He does not consider himself to be the same type of prisoner these men are. Lifer's
selfishness demonstrates Behan's view of the middle-class selfishness of the Irish who had much
but refused to share because they considered themselves to be better than those in need.
Lifer's class is further established when Dunlavin calls the Quare Fellow's murder a "bog-man
act." Dunlavin indicates the Quare Fellow is from the bog, which implies at least a lower
class, but possibly even a barbaric class of people. Richard Russell's article on The Quare Fellow
argues the Quare Fellow is from the Blasket Islands in County Kerry. These islands were the last
places that spoke only Irish and the people on these islands had been forced to move off them,
thus gradually losing their language and their culture. Because they did not speak English, they
were viewed as a lower class. According to Russell, the Quare Fellow represents the
extermination of these people. His death is symbolic of the loss of the people from the Blasket
Islands. Russell states, "the horrific murder committed by the Quare Fellow, represents aspects
of the stereotypical racialized pure Celt that the prison seems especially well equipped to
exterminate through its imperialist warders and imported English executioner" (79). The Quare
Fellow's murder is stereotyped as something a "bog-man" would perform, and the British
government, and consequently the Irish government afterwards, are determined to remove this
type of backwards, barbaric culture. The Quare Fellow is hanged because he represents a lower
class, Irish-speaking people who do not have the connections that Lifer does.
The class system extends beyond the prisoners to the relationship between the prisoners
and warders. As expected, the warders are considered a class above the prisoners because they
Neumann 33
have the power. This is demonstrated frequently throughout the text as the warders shout orders
to the prisoners and demand obedience for no reason beyond their authority. Desmond Maxwell
posits the prisoners’ actions “should be played to suggest the prisoners’ minimal obedience to the
forms” (90). While the text is static and each director can make performance choices, this type of
obedience from the prisoners can be seen in the text itself. The prisoners recognize the warders
have the power and are therefore a class above them, but they also do all they can to fight against
the system.
The prisoners' bare minimum of obedience is shown during the second act when a group
of prisoners is taken out to finish digging the Quare Fellow’s grave. The warders are instructed
to give them cigarettes, one at the beginning and one when the prisoners finish. Upon receiving
the cigarettes, the prisoners stop working and start smoking and talking. Warder Regan re-enters
and shouts, “I’ve been watching you for the last ten minutes and damn the thing you’ve done
except yap, yap, yap the whole time” (Behan 97). The prisoners care little about the
consequences of their actions, and their decision to smoke and talk rather than work is a
reflection of their minimal obedience. Even further, when Prisoner A replies to Warder Regan,
there is little reflection of his status as a prisoner:
PRISONER A. All right! So we were caught talking at labour. I didn’t ask to be an
undertaker’s assistant. Go on, bang me inside and case me in the morning! Let the
Governor give me three days of No.1.
WARDER REGAN. Much that’d worry you.
PRISONER A. You’re dead right. (Behan 98)
Warder Regan has little with which to threaten Prisoner A’s defiance, which proves the prisoners
must obey, but only to a certain degree. They do not fear what the warders can do to them, and
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even though the warders should have authority, the prisoners effectively undermine the warders'
power.
Special relationships develop among some of the warders and the prisoners, which
negates the necessary class system. One of the warders and Prisoner C speak Irish together. The
Irish language allows them to maintain an intimacy that cannot exist if they use English.
Anthony Roche posits, “Gaelic here provides this prisoner and this warder with a medium for a
more private and authentic exchange than the English language and voice, with its imperialist
and authoritarian overtones” (58). Irish provides an escape from the use of English, the
colonizer's language. When the guard and Prisoner C speak in Irish, they are defying the
institutions left behind by colonialism and standing together as Irish rather than prisoner and
guard.
When Prisoner D finds out about the Irish conversation between Prisoner C and the
guard, he says, “How can there be proper discipline between warder and prisoner with that kind
of familiarity?” (Behan 95). He is upset that they are fighting against the established colonial
influences. The use of the Irish language breaks down the social class and barriers between the
warder and Prisoner C. Prisoner C explains, “He does only be giving me the news from home
and who’s gone to America or England [. . .] the two of us do each be as lonely as the other”
(Behan 96). Prisoner C admits that for a brief moment the warder and he are the same class
drawn together by a common language and a loneliness. They can release the roles dictated to
them through the prison system and recognize they are both Irish. The Irish language in this
scene also creates a social barrier between the audience and the play. Most audience members
would be unable to understand the Irish spoken between these two characters, and this further
Neumann 35
emphasizes the characters' intimacy and their similar Irish identity, distinct from the identity
planted by the British.
Warder Regan straddles two class systems because he acts as the bridge between the
prisoners and the other warders. Some scholars claim Warder Regan is the voice of Behan in the
play, and this interpretation is valid. More importantly, he is the only authority figure to show
compassion and understanding for the Quare Fellow. Colbert Kearney explains, “Regan is the
only one of the prison staff who has any admirable quality—his refusal to see the death of the
victim as different from the death of any other human being—and this empathy brings him into
conflict with the prison regime” (496). While Warder Regan will not lose his place in the prison,
he openly speaks against the hanging. This outspokenness aligns him with the prisoners,
effectively placing him in their class system. He is the one warder who chooses to recognize the
humanity of the prisoners. Behan argues that the countries who have been colonized have
cultures and humanity that deserve their own place in the world.
Warder Regan's compassion for the prisoners is demonstrated when the Chief is talking
to Warder Regan in Act Three Scene One and Warder Regan vocally opposes the hanging:
WARDER REGAN [almost shouts]. I think the whole show should be put on in Croke
Park; after all, it’s at the public expense and they let it go on. They should have
something more for their money than a bit of paper stuck up on the gate.
CHIEF. Good night Regan. If I didn’t know you, I’d report what you said to the
Governor. (Behan 114)
Regan’s outspoken opinion aligns him with the prisoners and against the Governor, who
represents the colonizer's power. Regan is asking for his own way to punish according to the
Irish culture that would be less barbaric. His outcry also complicates the question of capital
Neumann 36
punishment. Regan feels guilty for the Quare Fellow’s death, and he compares that death to the
murdered victim. In his eyes, neither person deserves to die.
Even within the warders and guards, a type of class system has developed. The highest
ranking is the Governor, then the Chief, then Warder Regan, and then the warders with no
names. Holy Healy fits in there somewhere, ranked around the Chief and the governor. This class
system is clearly represented by the two warders who are on guard the night before the
execution. Warder 1 explains to Warder 2 that he has given some high praise, which might just
lead to Warder 2 receiving a promotion. Warder 2 is delighted at this prospect, but he is
reminded that he is a class behind Warder 1 when Warder 1 says, "It might happen that our
Principal was going to the Bog on promotion, and it might happen that a certain senior officer
would be promoted in his place" (Behan 107). Warder 1 is passing on his old position to Warder
2 because he believes he will be promoted to a different position. Warder 2 has not really
advanced classes; he will just carry more responsibility.
The Chief enters the scene shortly after the conversation with the two warders and
exercises his authority over them. He yells at Warder 1 for being outside rather than inside
patrolling the jail and quieting down the prisoners. Sufficiently reminded of his place, Warder 1
returns to the prison. Shortly after he leaves, the Governor comes on stage and his presence
demonstrates the Chief's place in the prison, right below the Governor. Each officer of the prison
has a strict class code and officer code that must be adhered to; otherwise, the balance of the
prison might be overthrown. This balance of power is similar to the power Ireland had during
Behan’s life. Ireland was a republic in everything but name, and therefore those ruling Ireland in
her government could play-act, like the Warders, as if they were a class above the rest, but they
were frequently reminded by the British that the British still had control. The power structure
Neumann 37
worked its way back to the British, who is like the Governor in Behan’s play. When the
Governor enters, everyone falls into place below him, and Britain still had that power during the
beginning of Behan’s life.
The class system that still prevails in Behan's play leads to the second facet of the
metaphor and aspect I will address: the Free State formed after the Irish revolution was not as
glorious as the Irish had believed it would be. While Behan was not a socialist like O'Casey (he
never agreed with Stalin), his play argues the oppression of the working class and the poor of
Ireland has not changed under Irish rule. Brannigan maintains that Dublin’s working class was
the legacy of colonialism (95). Dunlavin sums it up best with this statement, "When the Free
State came in we were afraid of our life they were going to change the mattresses for feather
beds. [. . .] But sure, thanks to God, the Free State didn't change anything more than the badge on
the warders' caps." (Behan 59). To the prisoners, who represent the working class, the Free State
(Ireland freed from British rule) did not change anything. Kiberd argues Behan’s “ultimate
indictment” is that Dunlavin is better off in jail than out in Dublin. This is Behan’s critique “of
the so-called Irish Free State which blithely persisted with this British model” (515). The prison
conditions represent the quality of life of the poor in Ireland, and according to Kiberd the prison
was actually better for those of the working class in Ireland. At least in jail Dunlavin is fed
regularly and given medical treatment. Behan's indictment of the Free State was not much
different than O'Casey's.
The third part of the metaphor I will consider is the presence of a British character as a
reminder of the lasting effects of colonialism. In The Quare Fellow, Behan includes the
Hangman as his token British member of the cast. The Hangman's character is the most detached
character in the play. He arrives for the execution and then goes to a pub for a drink unbothered
Neumann 38
by the task he must complete the next morning. The Chief explains to the Governor that the
Hangman rarely drinks but likes to have one before executing someone, as if this justifies his
going to a pub. In the play it is implied that the Hangman cannot have an Irish assistant, nor can
the Hangman be Irish, because the Irish are too drunk to handle such responsibility. This could
also imply the British are the only ones capable of such cruelty. The Hangman is part of the
colonial legacy because the Irish are not considered capable enough to handle the responsibility
of running a penal system.
After the Chief tells the story about the Irish assistant who lost the tools, the Governor
says, "We advertised for a native hangman during the Economic War. Must be fluent Irish
speaker. [. . .] There were no suitable applicants" (Behan 112). The Chief does not really respond
to this, but the remark implies the Irish cannot kill their own, or they do not believe in capital
punishment. Kiberd argues the Irish on the Blasket Islands did not believe in jail because if a
person committed murder he/she would feel so guilty he/she would create his/her own
punishment (516-17). According to Kiberd's research some Irish believe there is no reason for
jail. Given Behan's love for the Blasket Islands and the connection between the Blasket Islands
and this play Behan seems to be suggesting that capital punishment only exists in Ireland
because of the colonial influence of the British. Left to themselves, the Irish would not endorse
capital punishment.
The Hangman’s clinical detachment is, at times, horrifying. While the prisoners are
describing the hanging in gruesome detail throughout the play and Warder Regan is reminding
everyone the act about to be performed is not humane or right, the Hangman and his assistant,
Jenkinson, are singing songs and measuring the victim for the rope. When they return from the
pub the Hangman convinces his assistant to sing the hymn for Warder Regan he wrote about
Neumann 39
hangings. Jenkinson sings, and the Hangman methodically measures how much rope it will take
to kill the Quare Fellow. The Hangman's unconcern regarding the hanging demonstrates the
British indifference to the suffering they created through colonization, and their apathy towards
extinguishing unique languages and cultures. The assistant's hymn tries to humanize his job and
create pity for him, but he comes off hypocritical because he does not do anything to help the
condemned. Instead he uses the hymn to make others feel better about the situation, similar to the
rhetoric used by the British and other colonizing countries to disguise the true nature of
colonization. The entire scene is macabre and ends with the Hangman asking if the Quare Fellow
is a "R.C.," or Roman Catholic. Even though the prisoner will be hanged, he will still be given a
remission of his sins in the process, symbolic of the colonizer's belief they were saving the
colonized countries.
The representation of the British in Behan's play is not kind. The Hangman casually takes
a life right after spending a merry night in the pub and listening to Jenkinson sing. The colonial
influence was still felt by Behan, and he blames the British for the current state of his country.
Roche argues the “official hanging represents the persistence of colonial acts of legislation after
the announcement of independence” (54). Earlier he proposes “The prescribed fate for direct
political or independent action in a colonial society is hanging, the legacy a condition of
confusion” (51). Ireland has been left with the legacy of the British penal system, and the
hanging in this play represents the colonial influence Britain still held over Ireland even after
Ireland had declared its independence. Thirty years after O'Casey's depictions of Dublin, Behan
is still working with a British influence, even though this influence has diminished.
The fourth and final piece of the metaphor represents the Irish government's own form of
tyranny. O'Casey argued Irish independence would not work because the people would remove
Neumann 40
British authority only to put in their own form of oppression. In the prison, the prisoners are
guarded by Irish warders. The Governor is Irish, and Holy Healy, the one who can offer religious
comfort and help, is the biggest hypocrite of all. He refuses to give Dunlavin any help even
though his profession is to help the poor; instead he tells Dunlavin to come visit him when
Dunlavin gets out. They are both Irish, a similarity that should bring them together, but instead
Holy Healy adopts the role of oppressor and turns Dunlavin away. Even though the prison no
longer operates under the British penal system, the warders have still instituted their own form of
oppression. They choose who gets certain kinds of food, who gets medical rubs, who gets
cigarettes, who gets put in solitary confinement, and who gets to be part of the grave-digging
crew. Where the British have left off, the Irish have had no troubles taking over.
The Quare Fellow and his subsequent hanging represent this oppression and legacy of
colonialism best. Maxwell alleges, "For the prisoners, the Quare Fellow is not a cause. He is a
victim, a sacrifice, the ceremonies of his death detailed in their minds” (91). Throughout the
play, the Quare Fellow’s death is described in gruesome detail by the prisoners. These
descriptions provide two purposes: first to push the anti-capitalist message of the play, and
second to symbolize the horrific nature of colonialism. Prisoner A and Dunlavin describe the
process of hanging in Act One. After talking about the last meal, the last cigarette and what it
must be like waiting for the morning so the prisoner can walk to his own death, Prisoner A gives
this harrowing image of hanging in an almost flippant manner:
In the first place the doctor has his back turned after the trap goes down, and doesn’t turn
and face it until a screw has caught the rope and stopped it wriggling. Then they go out
and lock up the shop and have their breakfast and don’t come back for an hour. Then they
cut your man down and the doctor slits the back of his neck to see if the bones are
Neumann 41
broken. Who’s to know what happens in the hour your man is swinging there, maybe
wriggling to himself in the pit. (Behan 46)
Another description of the hanging process is revealed in one of Regan’s outbursts against
capital punishment when he describes the hanging as more than pushing a lever:
And you’re not going to give me that stuff about just shoving over the lever and bob’s
your uncle. You forget the times the fellow gets caught and has to be kicked off the edge
of the trap hole. You never heard of the warders down below swinging on his legs the
better to break his neck, or jumping on his back when the drop was too short. (Behan
114)
Both descriptions are full of details the average person would not know about hanging. While the
nature of the descriptions demonstrates the cruelty of hanging, there is an underlying message
about colonialism. The nations who colonize forget about the horrific actions that usually occur
before and during colonization.
Kiberd contends that “Behan was, instead, one of the first post-colonial writers to
impinge on the consciousness of post-war Britain” (529). Behan’s play is a surface argument
against capitalism and a deeper argument about colonialism. Regan mentions that the people in
charge forget about jumping on the victim so the neck breaks. Britain, and other colonizing
nations, forgot about the people they broke as they colonized countries and destroyed cultures.
Russell proposes the death of the Quare Fellow symbolizes the death of a specific dialect of Irish
found in Kerry. He continues by claiming when the Quare Fellow is killed, the play goes
monolingual. The British, in their effort to colonize, completely removed this dialect of the Irish
language. Going even further, the Quare Fellow’s execution, if not stopped, will be the execution
of Ireland’s culture and identity. In Behan's play, language is tied to the culture, and Behan
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shows how the Irish-speaking Quare Fellow is calmly executed, while Lifer, the one with the
good accent, is reprieved.
Since Behan can be considered O'Casey's successor, a brief comparison of their two plays
should be addressed. In The Quare Fellow Behan tackles the same class issues found in Juno and
the Paycock. Both plays entrap their characters in a class system. The Boyles cannot escape the
working class of Dublin while the prisoners cannot escape the prision. Both sets of characters
still manage to invent a class order within the societal systems that differentiates between people
socially. In these self-determined class organizations Juno creates a way to for her to feel like she
is better than her neighbors just like Prisoner D clings to the British lineage he brags about. For
both plays the characters have little material wealth, and so they invent a way to distinguish
divisions with objects other than money. In this way the characters can feel like they have the
power of the wealthy over a few people without actually having the necessary money to be upper
class.
Even though the Boyles are technically free, in many ways they are just as much
prisoners as the prisoners found in The Quare Fellow. The prisoners are unable to escape
because they are being held there by a society who has dictated they have done something
wrong. In many ways the Boyles are being held prisoner by society because there is no way they
can escape their poverty without money. In both prison situations there exists a modicum of
hope; a dream that the situation might improve. Through most of the play the Boyles are hoping
the inheritance money will bail them out of the tenements. A similar theme of hope prevails in
the prison as everyone waits to find out if the Quare Fellow's will be reprieved. In both cases the
hopes of the characters are frustrated by powers beyond their control. The prisoners cannot save
the Quare Fellow and the Boyles cannot fight against the legality of the will. Both parties end up
Neumann 43
with less than than they had at the beginning. The Quare Fellow loses his life and the Boyles lose
their family.
Another interesting point of comparison, explored a little further later in connection with
all three plays, is the common British character. In O'Casey's play, written right after the
symbolic independence of Ireland, Bentham's role is quite substantial representing the large role
Britain still played in Ireland and the Irish government. By the time Behan writes his play,
Ireland has been free (in fact but not in name) for almost thirty years, and the British have
become a distant influence. The British Hangman's role is much smaller than Bentham's,
representing Britain's waning influence on Ireland and its government. Ultimately, both
characters destroy the Irish characters. The Hangman administers death to the Quare Fellow
while Bentham's actions split the Boyles. Bentham's destruction of the Irish is much more
implicit and the effects of his friendship are not seen until the end and until it is too late. The
Hangman's method of destruction is explicit and both the audience and Irish characters are well
aware of the Hangman's job. Roche claims, “The continuation of the practice of hanging as a
colonialist legacy is stressed by the dramatic point that the hangman, the necessary instrument of
the practice, is an Englishman” (51). The Hangman, in name and action, represents the violence
of colonization, while Bentham's threat to Ireland is subtle and insidious.
O’Casey feared the Irish would topple the British government and put in their own that
would be necessarily different than the British system. The end of Juno and the Paycock shows
the chaos already beginning in Ireland after the 1916 Uprising and the Irish Civil War. Behan
can go further because his play is written thirty years after the events in O’Casey’s play. The
chaos has almost completely disappeared, and the play has developed its own sense of the Irish
community: poor, oppressed by its own government, and losing its native culture and language.
Neumann 44
Juno and the Paycock was still trying to develop that identity, and the Irish were different: still
poor, but with a sense of freedom and a chance to begin something new that was Irish as opposed
to the British culture that was left behind. In 1980, thirty years after Behan, Friel wrote
Translations. Both O'Casey and Behan defined the Ireland as different than Britain. Friel's play
continues this definition, but argues that some of those differences may not be as stark as the
Irish first believed.
Translations was first performed in the Derry Guildhall on September 23, 1980 (Deane
Introduction 21). Most scholars argue the play is primarily about language and that Friel's use of
language reflects on the postcolonial conflict. A few, like Deane and Kiberd, also suggest the
play is a parable or metaphor about modern-day Ireland, although none of the scholars explore
the idea of this metaphor too deeply. Friel uses language, specifically the Irish language, to
comment on the current state of the Irish people. Friel's depiction of the Irish language shows the
evolution of the Irish as they defined themselves opposite to the British. Rather than admit the
defeat of Irish language in the face of British expansion they chose to adapt the language to
create their own, effectively becoming both British and Irish; an uneasy act that each character
must perform.Unlike the focus of other scholars, my own emphasis, as described at the
beginning of this overall discussion, will be less on language and more on how Friel's use of
language defines the contemporary Ireland. Each character typifies aspects of Ireland, but it is
not just the characters themselves that embody Ireland, but how the characters use, or do not use
Irish, that represent Friel's concept of Irish identity.
Before the play can be fully discussed, the historical time period must be explained, as
with the other two plays, and some of Friel's background should be mentioned. The play is set in
1833 during the Ordnance Survey that was conducted in Ireland during this same time period. In
Neumann 45
the play the Ordnance Survey is depicted as a horrible act performed by the British. In reality,
the survey's purpose and side effects were not that terrible. Michael Mays explains the survey
was carried out on a county-by-county basis between 1825-1841. He indicates the survey wanted
to rectify inequities in the local taxation and the British wanted an official map of the names and
boundaries of the Irish countryside. It was not a military operation, and, in many cases, instead of
eradicating the culture the survey helped to preserve the local history that would have been
destroyed by the famine in the 1890's. Even though the survey helped preserve Irish culture and
history, the lasting effects of the survey were still pernicious (119-120).
Friel also targeted the nationalization of schools that occurred in Ireland after 1831 in this
play. The British created a national school system in Ireland, which became known as the
nationalization of schools. In these schools the only language spoken and taught was English.
Even though Friel includes the nationalization of schools in his play, the Education Act, which
created the national schools in Ireland, was instituted in 1831, slightly before the time period of
his play and not exactly congruous with the Ordnance Survey, although there is some overlap.
While historically inaccurate, Friel combined these two events to create his desired effect. Many
scholars have argued the play is historically inaccurate, and while true, that is not the point.
Wolfgang Zach states, "Friel's overall concern seems to have been to select precisely those
elements of the Irish past which still haunt the Irish present" (76). It does not matter if the events
happened at different points; it matters that the events happened, and contemporary Ireland still
feels the effects of these events.
Friel's personal history, while not extensively explored in comparison to his works, is
also important to note. He was born in Omagh, County Tyrone, and at age 10 moved to Derry
(Sternlicht 116). He was educated in Eire and Northern Ireland and today lives on the border
Neumann 46
between both. Most Irish consider him to be a complete representation of their country because
of his educational and land-owning backgrounds. Sternlicht explains, "For millions, Friel speaks
for Ireland from the stage. [. . .] Friel, a Roman Catholic born in Nothern Ireland, educated in
both the North and the South, and residing in Donegal, not far from the border [. . .] may come
closest of all contemporary dramatists" (116) to speaking for all of Ireland. Sternlicht also
explains, "The Troubles were the political events of [Friel's] life" (117) and this conflict colors
his writing. Friel's own grandfather was a hedge-school master and both sets of grandparents
were native Irish speakers (Lojek 185). This personal history can be seen as part of the web of
the play; the combination of both the historical and personal information gives a the audience
better understanding of Translations.
With an understanding of the important historical points, we can more fully explore how
Friel uses language, in conjunction with his characters, to form metaphors for Irish identity. Each
of the six main characters react differently to the mapping of Ireland, and their interactions with
language reveal the different contemporary attitudes about the collapse of Irish. They will be
analyzed in the following order: first, Hugh, the schoolmaster, is excited to be part of the
national school system, but still holds on to the beauty of the Irish language. Second, Manus, one
of Hugh's sons, refuses to accept the change and eventually leaves the county. Third, Owen,
Hugh's other son, returns with the British, as their translator. He, at first, embraces the survey
and the English language. Fourth, Yolland, a British soldier, sides with the Irish and disagrees
with the true purpose of the survey. He befriends both Owen and Maire and is the only
sympathetic British character. Fifth, Maire wishes to learn English and literally embraces the
British in the figure of Yolland. Sixth, Sarah, a mute, can only speak a few words, but her
Neumann 47
actions, which lead to violence, express her dislike of the British and the loss of language she has
just barely learned.
The first character for this discussion, and probably the most important character in the
play, is Hugh, because he embodies the language adaptation that occurred during the 1830's in
Ireland and demonstrates why the Irish speak English today. The opening scene in the play does
not include Hugh, but one can argue the play does not really begin until Hugh enters after the
naming ceremony. Richard Pine indicates that the "key to Hugh's character, [is] the fact that the
play revolves around him, as its central persona" (225). This argument is clearly demonstrated
even before Hugh enters the classroom. Manus and the other students are busy setting up the
play with their conversation. The audience quickly learns Maire wants to speak English, Jimmy
Jack is slightly perverted, Sarah is only just learning to speak, a new national school system will
be coming to the county, and how the crop is doing poorly. During all these pieces of
conversation Hugh is constantly mentioned, once by Manus asking Sarah where Hugh is, once
by Maire asking if school will take place, and a couple of times by Doalty and Bridget when they
mention Hugh is coming, but is completely drunk. His presence is what everyone is waiting for,
and his entrance immediately brings the attention to language.
Right before Hugh enters, Doalty says, "The bugger's not coming at all. Sure the bugger's
hardly fit to walk" (Friel 20). Rather than take offense, Hugh corrects him with the proper Latin
word. He says, "Adsum, Doalty, adsum. Perhaps not in sobrietate perfecta but adequately sobrius
to overhear your quip" (Friel 21). Hugh has already managed to turn the focus of the
conversation to language and the study of language. He then proceeds to quiz his students on the
roots of the words he is using. Interestingly, he does not ask them for the Irish word root, but the
Latin or Greek root. He is teaching his students Latin and Greek rather than Irish or English.
Neumann 48
While his students know how to speak Irish, few know how to write in Irish because Hugh
teaches them how to write in Latin and Greek, both dead languages. Most importantly, Hugh is
teaching his students the origin of language and, in some ways, the evolution of language. While
both languages he teaches are dead, pieces of those languages have been absorbed and changed
by other languages to create something new. The language games Hugh plays in the school
foreshadow what must and will occur with the Irish language.
While Hugh refuses to speak or teach English, his character is the only one in the play
that recognizes what must happen to preserve the Irish culture in the face of a language change.
Pine argues, "Hugh is the complete realist because he knows what is happening" (227). Tim
Gauther affirms "[Hugh] also recognizes that any hope of cultural survival depends upon an
adoption and appropriation of the colonizer's language" (348). While the other characters are
fighting against the proliferation of English, Hugh accepts the Irish language must change;
indeed, he has seen this change in his beloved Latin and Greek. But rather than just learn to
speak English he knows the Irish can re-invent their own version of the language, as the English
did by including pieces of Latin. Hugh's desired adaptation of the language is most clearly
demonstrated by the actors. They are speaking English, but the audience knows they are actually
speaking Irish. This is one of Friel's great devices that clearly shows the evolution of the Irish
language. Hugh does not accept that the Irish must cast their allegiance with Gaelic or with
English, and this is Friel's point. The Irish do not have to leave their homes, return to a language
few of them actually speak, or accept the rule of the British and learn English. Instead they can
become a hybrid culture that accepts pieces of the British language but keeps the important
aspects of their own culture, changes the English language into their own. Friel's use of English
Neumann 49
in place of Irish in the performance of the play clearly depicts the hybrid nature of language
which demonstrates the hybrid nature of the Irish people.
There is more behind the idea of the adaptation of Irish than just the British desire to rule
Ireland. John Malenich alleges that, "Hugh also understands that his people's language has grown
static and no longer represents those who speak it, because of colonialism, English was the
language of the future of Ireland and denying that would only allow this community to be
alienated" (74). English was becoming the language of trade, as even Hugh admits. While
relating to the class a conversation with the British Lancey, he says, "Indeed—[Lancey] voiced
some surprise that we did not speak his language. I explained that a few of us did, on occasion—
outside the parish of course—and then usually for the purposes of commerce, a use to which his
tongue seemed particularly suited [. . .]"(Friel 23). Hugh knows that his community will
eventually be forced to learn English in order to survive economically. He recognizes the Irish
language is dying and English is the language of survival. If Hugh wants to save his community,
he needs to teach them how to speak English, even though "English [. . .] couldn't really express
[them]" (Friel 23). At the end of the play, Hugh demonstrates his willingness to start adapting
when he agrees to teach Maire English. Unfortunately, as he tells Maire, he can teach her the
words, but he cannot teach her the meaning. He says, "I will provide you with the available
words and the available grammar. But will that help you to interpret between privacies? I have
no idea" (Friel 90). Deane states, "That is the problem of translation. It is, in effect, an
interpretation" (Brian Friel 107). Hugh recognizes the British cannot translate the Irish and the
Irish cannot translate the English. This is why the Irish cannot just appropriate the language; they
must adapt and make the language something of their own.
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Hugh's recognition of his community's need to learn English is ironic because he has
spent his entire career teaching his students other dead languages. Maureen Hawkins states, "The
insistence of Hugh and Jimmy Jack on the superiority of classical languages and cultures denies
the validity of Irish experience, thus preparing the ground for British linguistic imperialism"
(28). Hugh has already prepared the way for the British to take over the Irish language because
he has taught his students their own culture is not worth studying or learning in school. Instead,
the students have spent their time learning Greek history and the stories written in Latin and
Greek instead of their own language. Teaching these languages foreshadows the events that will
take place later in the play. Hugh teaches the students dead languages and their own language
will soon have few speakers, most Irish choosing to speak English instead. Hugh, teaching
languages that have disappeared, knows the danger of letting language or culture disappear and
fears that if his community does not learn to adapt, their way of life will also disappear.
This principle is further demonstrated by the final speech of the play. As the curtain
closes, Hugh quotes a passage from the Aeneid about the city of Carthage that was completely
destroyed and the city's culture and language was lost forever. Hugh's job is to make sure this
does not happen to Ireland, and the only way to do this is to appropriate the English language for
Irish use, rather than allow the British to dictate what the Irish culture can or cannot be. During
the moment that Hugh begins to recite this passage, he forgets part of it. He says, "What the
hell's wrong with me? Sure I know it backways, I'll begin again" (91). Just as Carthage
disappeared, Hugh's way of life is beginning to disappear. He cannot remember a passage he has
taught and studied thousands of times. This small moment is another shadow of what is
happening to Ireland. Throughout the play there is a feeling of loss, especially at the end when
the characters begin to forget important things or they get lost. Hugh's momentary memory loss
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is a symbol of the small, but significant pieces of culture and people that gradually get lost when
another culture claims colonial power.
While Hugh recognizes what must happen to preserve Irish culture, his two sons take
opposite sides about the preservation of Irish and also Irish culture. Manus, the first son I will
discuss, represents those Irish who refuse to accept a change in their language. Tony Corbett
calls him the "touchstone of the play" (23), and Zach argues that Manus' escape symbolically
represents that the Irish cannot escape colonization (87). Manus is so opposed to the change of
languages, and as he views it, culture, that he flees his hometown. Today Manus would be a
member of the Gaelic League or any number of organizations that are trying to preserve the Irish
language. Even though Manus can speak English, he will not speak it with the guards, and even
when he gets extremely angry at Yolland, he only curses Yolland in Irish. Hugh, looking ahead
at the necessary language changes, applies for the job at the national school; Manus, refusing to
accept that Irish may disappear, applies for a job at another hedge school in another county that
will be mapped next. Manus cannot accept that it might be okay to adapt the English language.
He, like many other Irish, believe that language is culture and losing the Irish language means
losing the Irish culture.
When Yolland disappears, Manus runs away, but everyone knows he will be caught and
most likely blamed for the disappearance of Yolland. Owen tries to warn him and tells him "I'm
warning you: run away now and you're bound to be . . ." (Friel 70), but Manus is determined to
leave and he chooses a remote peninsula as his destination, perhaps hoping the changes will not
reach him. His escape, and implied recapture, represents the inability of the Irish to escape
colonization. Manus cannot escape; his way of life is dying, just like the Irish language and
possibly the culture is dying. He is ultimately betrayed by Maire, his intended, when she chooses
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Yolland over him. This choice symbolizes the betrayal of Ireland (represented by Maire) against
those who fought for the Irish language (represented by Manus). While a select few were
fighting to speak Gaelic and keep the language and therefore culture alive, Ireland, as a whole,
chose to adapt the British language as a means for survival, effectively weakening the Gaelic
language in Ireland.
The second son I will discuss is Owen, who is a cross between Manus and Hugh. He
readily accepts the British language and acts as the translator for the soldiers, but this acceptance
only lasts until he recognizes what he is losing, and then he fights to retain the Irish way of life.
His name, Roland to the British and Owen to the Irish, is the perfect symbol for the hybridity of
the Irish and what will eventually happen to the Irish place names they are re-mapping. Ronald
Rollins intimates, "[Owen's] identity has been altered and eroded by the arbitrary ritual of
naming, and his loss prefigures the longer loss which is to follow—the loss of their historical-cultural
identity by all the Irish people living in this English colony" (39). The British change
Owen's name to Roland, and he does not correct them. When Manus suggests it is wrong for the
British to call him Roland, he says, "Owen – Roland – what the hell. It's only a name. It's the
same me, isn't it? Well, isn't it?" (Friel 37). This line only reminds the audience of what is to
come later for the Irish people; their own names will be Anglicized and the inherent meaning of
the names will be lost. Later he tells Manus he is rich, and this seems to imply Owen gave up his
name, a central piece of identity, for monetary gain. This makes his lack of concern for his name
being changed even more tragic.
Owen's name change further represents the nature of translation. Owen became Roland,
and the Anglicization of his name lost the Irish meaning of Owen. This will happen as each Irish
place name is translated in English. While the British may be able to translate the names into
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something more Anglicized, they will be unable to translate the meaning or the stories and
cultures that go along with the the Irish name. This is most clearly demonstrated in the story of
Tobair Vree. Yolland is concerned at his role in this "eviction of sorts" (Friel 52), and Owen
responds "We're making a six-inch map of the country. Is there something sinister in that?" (Friel
52). He continues by telling Yolland that they are helping to clear up the confusion, but Yolland
insists they are eroding something. Yolland recognizes that the British words cannot capture the
meaning of the Irish names.
In order to disprove this point, Owen explains how Tobair Vree got its name. He
concludes with:
I know the story because my grandfather told it to me. But ask Doalty—or Maire—or
Bridget—even my father—even Manus—why it's called Tobair Vree; and do you think
they'll know? I know they don't know. So the question I put to you, Lieutenant, is this:
what do we do with a name like that? Do we scrap Tobair Vree altogether and call it—
what?—the Cross? Crossroads? Or do we keep piety with a man long dead, long
forgotten, his name 'eroded' beyond recognition, whose trivial little story nobody in the
parish remembers? (Friel 53)
Owen claims names have little meaning for the people who use them anyway, so there is no
sense in trying to preserve the meaning. In the case of Tobair Vree, he is both right and wrong.
No one may remember why it was named Tobair Vree, and therefore the name can be changed
without losing something, but Owen has forgotten that he remembers where the name comes
from. He states that "nobody in the parish remembers" this name, but he seems to have neglected
himself, and the relationship this story cultivated between him and his grandfather. Owen's own
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story negates his point that names are forgotten and without purpose; Tobair Vree is not without
purpose and has certainly not been forgotten.
Hybridity complicates Owen's role in the play. When Owen arrives back to the small
town he was raised in he has become a translator for the British. He is trying to become a part of
the British by learning to speak their language and joining with them. When he first enters, he
tells Manus, "My job is to translate the quaint, archaic tongue you people persist in speaking into
the King's good English" (Friel 30). His desire to be a part of the British community has caused
him to "other" his own Irish community. He calls them "you people" instead of recognizing that
he also spoke that language. Despite his desire to "other" the Irish, he is still not British, but a
hybrid of British and Irish. He refuses to recognize the British might be doing something
harmful. Manus asks:
MANUS: [. . .] What's 'incorrect' about the placenames we have here?
OWEN: Nothing at all. They're just going to be standardized.
MANUS: You mean changed into English?
OWEN: Where there's ambuiguity they'll be Anglicised. (Friel 36)
Owen does not admit there could be something sinister behind the British desire to map the Irish
country. Instead he chooses to believe the British are helping, and he looks upon his fellow Irish
citizens as people who are refusing, or even hindering, progress.
Towards the end of the play, Owen finally recognizes that something might be destroyed
in his innocent mapping project, and he wants to become part of his Irish community again.
Unfortunately, it might be too late. He cannot fully come back to the Irish community because he
has learned what it means to be British and he has tried to adopt their ways. But he cannot be
British either because he was born Irish and has only recently learned what it means to be
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British. Lucia Salaris argues, "Owen doesn't belong to the community any more. On the other
hand, he doesn't belong to the British world either" (102). Her statement sums up Owen's
inability to find a place between the two countries. He has given up his place in Ireland, even
though he still knows the password to the tribe. He shows he knows this as he comes into the
hedge school and talks to Sarah. Not only does he call her by her full name, but he talks about
where she was born. This is the key to the Irish community, and it shows Owen is aware of the
culture he has come from. At the end he returns to this culture, but only through the extreme
price of violence. He joins the Donnelly twins to fight against the British, and to save the Irish
village from being destroyed in retribution for the disappearance of Yolland.
Owen's foil is the British soldier Yolland. While Owen wants to become British, Yolland
wants to become Irish. Timothy O'Leary explains that Yolland "also begins to follow the well-worn
path of the accidental colonizer, falling in love with the landscape, the people and the
language of the colony" (30). During the work of translation, he says to Owen "Do you think I
could live here?" (Friel 45). Yolland finds himself drawn to the Irish people and the way they
live, even though he knows he will always be an outsider. Owen, knowing the harsh realities of
Irish life that he has tried to escape, replies, "Live on what? Potatoes? Buttermilk? For God's
sake! The first hot summer in fifty years and you think it's Eden. Don't be such a bloody
romantic. You wouldn't survive a mild winter here" (Friel 45). Yolland has fallen in love with an
Edenic Ireland, not the Ireland that actually exists. Salaris states it this way: "what [Yolland]
cherishes is not Irish culture as it actually is, but its idealized image, where everything is reduced
to an aesthetic dimension" (102). He can only see the beauty of the language, the beauty of the
landscape and the beauty of Maire; he misses the poverty, the famine, and the eventual loss of
language.
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Yolland, as the accidental tourist, opens up the possibility for communication between
the Irish and English (Gauther 346). While Yolland and Owen translate the names, they establish
a dialogue between English and Irish. Owen reads the Irish names and together they give an
English sound to the Gaelic word. When they take a break, Yolland asks to hear the names again
"as they still are—in [Owen's] own language" (Friel 45). Owen complies, and Yolland repeats
them to himself, memorizing the sounds. Later they participate in a christening of sorts when
Owen reveals his name is actually Owen, not Roland. While they shout out, "We name a thing
and—bang! it leaps into existence!" (Friel 56), they drink "Lying Anna's poteen," or, as it is
known in Irish, "Anna na mBreag's poteen" (Friel 56). For a brief moment they are
communicating with more than the same language; they finally understand each other. Yolland
states, "I'll decode you yet" (Friel 56), meaning he will be able to do more than just speak the
sounds of the Irish language. Unfortunately, this understanding is never reached. True
communication only occurs while under the influence of a drink called "Lying Anna," a perfect
symbol for the colonizer's inability to connect truthfully and communicate with the colonized.
Later, Yolland's disappearance further represents the inability of the Irish and British to
communicate without violence.
The pinnacle of communication and miscommunication between the Irish and English in
this play comes between Yolland and Maire. The two characters from different cultures
somehow fall in love without being able to speak the same language. This point is further
demonstrated by the fact that the actors are speaking the same language (English) and yet the
characters still do not understand what each other is saying.:
Maire: The grass must be wet. My feet are soaking.
Yolland: Your feet must be wet. The grass is soaking. (Friel 62)
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Both characters are saying the same thing, and the audience knows Maire and Yolland are saying
the same thing, but there is is no true communication through their words. They do not
understand what the other person is saying even though they seem to understand what the other
person is feeling. Without a common language the two people, and the two countries they
represent, cannot be brought together permanently.
Later in the love scene Yolland begins to speak the Irish place names Owen has taught
him; this small shared language creates a form of communication even though there is no
meaning behind the words:
Yolland: Maire
She still moves away
Maire Chatach
She still moves away
Bun na hAbhann? (He says the name softly, almost privately, very tentatively, as if he
were searching for a sound she might respond to. He tries again) Druim Dubh?
Maire stops. She is listening. Yolland is encouraged.
Poll na gCaorach. Lis Maol.
Maire turns towards him.
Lis na nGall
Maire: Lis na nGradh.
They are now facing each other and begin moving—almost imperceptibly—towards one
another. (Friel 65-66)
Maire is drawn to the sounds of her own language, and she reaches out to Yolland. They begin
speaking their separate languages again, but this time they know what the other person is saying
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and the scene ends with a kiss: a type of communication that needs no words. This relationship
symbolizes the brief moments of peace between the British and Irish. Both countries are brought
together by the English language, but because the two countries speak a different version of
English the similarities are not enough to create communication. Yolland and Maire's fragile
unity, brought together by the Irish placenames, will be shortly destroyed. The Irish/British
relationship is just as tenuous and held together by a language both countries speak. Even though
both countries speak a version of the same language the words they speak to each other often do
not have the same meaning because the Irish have adapted English and made it their own
language. Like Yolland and Maire, who only speak the same language when naming places in
Ireland, the Irish and English speak the same language but the meanings behind the words can
often differ and create violence.
If Owen's foil is Yolland, then Manus' foil is Maire. Unlike Manus, who already knows
English but refuses to speak it, Maire desires to learn English, and even though she is promised
to Manus, she chooses the British Yolland because she wants to leave the island and Yolland
represents something different and exotic. There are two important things to note about Maire:
first, she knows the value of English. She is the only character to embrace English, and this is
shown through her desires to be taught English, and physically when she embraces Yolland.
Second, she breaks the code of the Irish and betrays her country when she chooses Yolland over
Manus. This shows the negative effects of the British culture on the Irish culture because she
betrays where she comes from, and does not seem to care.
The first thing to note is Maire's valuation of the English language. At the beginning of
the play when Hugh explains that English cannot express the Irish, Maire gets visibly upset and
says, "We should all be learning to speak English. That's what my mother says. That's what I say.
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That's what Dan O'Connell said last month in Ennis. He said the sooner we all learn to speak
English the better" (Friel 24). She continues by quoting Daniel O'Connell, an Irish politician who
thought the Irish people should learn English, who said, "The old language is a barrier to modern
progress" (Friel 25). Her lines are important, because Friel uses her to show that the Irish
language was already in decline long before the British mapped the colony. Maire, like other
Irish, was ready to learn English and embraces new this language. Many Irish subscribed to
Daniel O'Connell's position that they should learn English. There were other reasons the Irish
language was disappearing, such as the potato famine foreshadowed in the play, which forced the
emigration of thousands of Irish. Unlike some scholars believe, some of the Irish people were
willing to learn English and did not view the language switch as something sinister or negative.
The Irish audience watching this play in English is faced with the character of Maire who makes
choices similar to their own ancestors. Friel seems to be saying that it is because of their own
ancestors, like Maire, who wanted to learn English that a contemporary Irish audience is now
watching a play about the loss of the Irish language in English. The British are not the only ones
at fault for the loss of Irish language.
Maire's love of the English goes beyond her desire to speak the language. By embracing
Yolland she physically shows she is willing to accept the British and their language. Ironically,
she chooses Yolland because she wants to leave and she thinks he will take her with him, but
Yolland has fallen in love with her country and wishes to stay on her island rather than return to
England. After their brief moment of communication, she believes he will come back for her and
they will escape to Britain, but the only thing she walks away with is the place names of
Yolland’s own country and the word “always.” At the end when Yolland disappears, Maire
returns to the hedge school to wait for him. Even though she has not actually left with Yolland,
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her desire to leave Ireland and her willingness to give up Irish for English has already created a
sense of loss in her character. While she is waiting for Yolland to come back, she leaves the
school, but then comes back and says, “I’m back again. I set out for somewhere but I couldn’t
remember where. So I came back here” (Friel 89). Her sense of loss is fueled by her willingness
to leave the Irish language and island behind to be with Yolland. Now she has also lost the
British soldier and she has no direction—she cannot be with Yolland, yet she does not feel like
she belongs in her Irish community. Like Owen, she has become a hybrid, caught between two
worlds and without a home.
Maire’s valuation of English and her subsequent relationship with Yolland is also what
causes the violence in the village to occur. Someone has told the Donnelly twins of Maire's
treachery and Yolland has been taken and probably killed. Lauren Onkey argues that Maire is the
symbol for Ireland and for the qualities of the nation. This makes Maire the nation’s property.
Onkey further explains, “Maire cannot act freely on her desires because she functions as property
and symbol of Baile Beag. If Maire stands in for Ireland, then Yolland’s emotional or sexual
possession of her is equated with possession of the country” (166). As in other Irish plays, the
women are often symbols for Ireland, and Maire’s willingness to give herself to Yolland is
symbolic of the Irish willingness to give themselves to the British system. Her choice is not the
same choice as others in her community, and they, like the Donnelly twins, refuse to allow their
country, or Maire, to be possessed.
The concept of Maire representing female Ireland is further discussed by Maria-Elena
Doyle. She states, "Friel is unwilling to allow us such an easy association; after all, [. . .] Maire is
rather too ready to leave her homeland to become its feminine embodiment" (169). Even though
Maire can be considered a symbol of Ireland, her possession is only wrong because the Donnelly
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twins view it that way. Her own choice is to be with Yolland, and this is how Friel complicates
the colonized's position. If Maire is the symbol of Ireland and she chooses to be with Yolland,
then Friel is saying that the people of Ireland made the choice to accept English, and that is how
most Irish ended up no longer speaking Gaelic. It was because the British forced English upon
the Irish and because some of the Irish welcomed this new language.
The second and last thing to note about Maire is her betrayal of the Irish code. She had
been promised to Manus as a child, and she betrays this promise and cultural code when she
chooses Yolland. This action further devastates the little community of Baile Beag. Sarah, who
sees Maire with Yolland, feels betrayed because she has feelings for Manus, but knows she
cannot have Manus or act on those feelings because he is promised to someone else. But Maire
betrays Manus, and Sarah does not consider Maire to be worthy of Manus. Manus is forced to
flee because he does not want to accept the British language and customs infiltrating his town.
Yolland is killed because, even though Maire and Yolland try, there are consequences for
marrying outside the tribe. These consequences are detailed in Jimmy Jack’s speech about his
upcoming marriage to Athene. He says, "Do you know the Greek word endogamein? It means to
marry within the tribe. And the word exogamein means to marry outside the tribe. And you don't
cross those borders casually—both sides get very angry" (Friel 90). While he is not lecturing
Maire for her choice, he is warning her that exogamy is not to be taken lightly, and the end of the
play shows the truly dire consequences for seeking a mate outside of her own tribe.
Sarah, a somewhat minor character, plays a major role in contributing to the violence at
the end of the play. Many scholars claim she represents Ireland because of her gain and then loss
of language. At the end, when she is threatened by Lancey, she loses her power of speech, which,
according to multiple interpretations of her, symbolizes Ireland’s loss of language when the
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British came in and created the National Schools and mapped the country. Onkey claims that
Sarah is an ambiguous character and cannot be solely read as a symbol of Ireland. She states,
“But if Sarah represents the suffering nation, then Friel would be reinforcing rather than
reconstructing old myths and stereotypes” (168). Onkey does not claim what Sarah could
represent, but if Friel is reconstructing old myths then the character of Sarah must be read as
more than just another woman who represents Ireland. Her loss of speech is indicative of what
happens to much of Ireland because of the National School system. Sarah does is not just a
victim but actually helps cause the retribution against the British for taking Maire. It is she that
sees Maire embrace Yolland, and she is the one who cries out alerting others to the problem.
Manus claims he only yells at Yolland for the crime, but the implication is that someone told the
Donnelly twins what has happened, and Sarah was probably the one who told them. When she is
questioned she falls back into her inability to speak, which is a convenient way to hide her
transgressions. She is not only a suffering nation, but a nation willing to strike out in violence
against those who take away or hurt the people it loves.
All three plays covered in this paper deal with Irish identity and its definition as opposed
to British culture. Now that each play has been analyzed in-depth and their differences have been
explained, I will look at four strong connections between their themes and characters. First, the
Irish language is the foundation for Behan and Friel, and it is the defining characteristic of the
Irish people in their plays. Second, all three playwrights use a version of the stage Irishman,
which contradicts, rather than enforces, commonly held stereotypes of the Irish. Third, the
women play crucial roles in Friel’s and O’Casey’s plays, and their presence in such a male-dominated
art form is essential to Irish identity. Last, each play includes a British character or
two, and throughout the plays the British role evolves mimicking the role of the British in
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Ireland. On its own, each play defines Ireland and its people, but together

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Full-Text

The Definition of Irish Identity Through the Twentieth Century as Seen by: Sean
O'Casey, Brendan Behan, and Brian Friel
The concept of Irish identity has been explored in both Irish literature and the responses
to Irish literature. Scholars have analyzed novels, poems, and plays to interpret how Irish writers
have chosen to define Ireland in the twentieth century. While there is a great deal of literature
available on Irish identity and what it means to be a postcolonial nation, I will give my own
interpretation of Irish identity by choosing three playwrights, writing in thirty year increments,
who provide a snapshot of the state of Ireland throughout the twentieth century. Rather than
trying to define Ireland without reference to their colonial past, I argue these playwrights create a
unique identity for Ireland by claiming and demonstrating that the Irish way of life is not the
British way of life.
Before identifying the three playwrights and their plays the nature of identity needs to be
explored. The definition of self is slippery because language must be used to articulate the
parameters and language is imperfect. In order to measure what something is it is compared to
what it is not. I am a woman because I am not a man, but what exactly does the word "woman"
mean? It is necessarily different than man, but the word does not capture my identity, nor does it
define a group of women. The letters merely form a symbol; a word that represents a concept. A
postcolonial nation must struggle with the very concept of identity and definition because of the
slipperiness of language. The Irish know they are not British and that is how they create what it
means to be Irish. They continually use the opposite of the British to define themselves. They
want to speak Irish and declare it as their native language because it is not English. They focus
on their own mythology and folklore because it is their history, not the British history. They
create their own class system and working class that is not the British middle class. Each of the
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playwrights uses these binaries to show how the Irish have defined themselves against the British
throughout the twentieth century.
Having established how the Irish used the characteristics opposite of the British to define
themselves I will move to an analysis of the three specific playwrights and their three plays
central to this paper. Because so much has been written on both W.B. Yeats and Samuel Beckett
I have chosen to focus on three other playwrights who wrote in thirty year increments: Sean
O'Casey (1920's), Brendan Behan (1950's), and Brian Friel (1980's). The three plays, O'Casey's
Juno and the Paycock, Behan's The Quare Fellow, and Friel's Translations, are each
playwrights' major works and when taken together the major themes come to represent what it
meant to be Irish in the twentieth century. The plays' references to the Irish working class and
most importantly the Irish language represents both the Irish culture and the essential differences
between Ireland and Britain. In each play the reaction to these major themes evolves finally
reaching the state of Friel's characters and the contemporary description of both Ireland and its
people who have learned to define themselves against the British, but who have also learned to
accept the necessity of the English language and their connection to postcolonial heritage.
Sean O’Casey, along with Yeats and Synge, helped bring Irish theatre to prominence, and
his plays were such realistic depictions of Dublin life in juxtaposition to the British influence
previously held in Ireland that he must be discussed first. Some scholars admire O’Casey for his
characterization and the humanity found in his plays, and they claim his plays are a slice of real
life, pieces of naturalism that capture Dublin and its people in the early twentieth century. All
three plays found in the Dublin Trilogy, The Shadow of the Gunman (1923), Juno and the
Paycock (1925), and The Plough and the Stars (1926) capture Ireland right after the Easter 1916
Rising, but I will focus on Juno and the Paycock because this play deals primarily with a family
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who functions as a synecdoche for Ireland as a whole. This play was O’Casey’s most successful
play and was first performed on March 3, 1924 at the Abbey Theatre in Dublin, Ireland (Ayling
15). Set during the Irish Civil War, the play focuses on a family (the Boyles) living in a tenement
in Dublin. All four family members of Juno and the Paycock represent different aspects of
Ireland. Mary, the daughter, represents youth, vitality, confusion, and the search for self that the
young Irish government found itself in after the Easter 1916 Rising. Johnny, the son, represents
the wars of Ireland during that time, and the price people had to pay for war. He also brings the
reality of war into the domestic sphere. The Captain, the father, represents the strife of the
working-class found in Ireland. Poverty, and then wealth, defines his identity, but in the end he is
left with his drink and his stereotypical Irish behaviors. Juno, the mother, represents Ireland as a
whole. She is the mother figure, just as Ireland is the mother figure for her citizens. All four
together represent the identity of the Ireland O'Casey was a product of, a colonized country
breaking free and caught in a terrible civil war.
O’Casey’s plays are so closely tied to his own personal politics and the events that were
occurring in Ireland that some important pieces of background must be mentioned first. As a
young man he was pro-Irish Ireland and joined the Gaelic League. He became part of the Irish
Republican Brotherhood (IRB) and considered the plight of the working class people to be the
most important cause of the Republican government. In 1913, in the events leading up to the
Easter 1916 Rising, the working class went on strike and the Dublin Lockout occurred. The
working class was not allowed to return to work. O’Casey looked to the Republican party and
the IRB to support the working class, but instead they supported the middle class and the owners
of the companies. This was the turning point for O’Casey and he lost his faith in Irish
Republicanism as it currently defined itself. His plays, while not entirely anti-nationalist, have
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been called that. Riots erupted during the opening week of The Plough and the Stars because the
audience was scandalized by his anti-nationalist themes. In reality, he did not dislike Ireland, but
he was disappointed by the direction the country was going. Eventually, O’Casey became so
disillusioned with Irish politics he left Ireland and settled in England shortly after the first
performances of The Plough and the Stars.
O'Casey's plays often reflect his own political struggle, and, as a result, scholars often
claim that either his plays are too political, or not political enough. Seamus Deane argues
O’Casey does not “develop a critique of Irish history or politics, even though he makes gestures
in that direction” (Irish Politics 149). While Deane’s assessment seems rather harsh when so
many other scholars have hailed O’Casey for depicting an Ireland in turmoil, Deane later
pinpoints the actual use of politics in these plays. He states, “Politics, as [O'Casey] knew it, was
the occasion of his plays; morality was their subject” (Irish Politics 149). Deane is right:
O'Casey's plays do not focus on politics. His purpose was not to depict the horrors of the Irish
war (although he does so in a way that reminds us war is hell); his purpose was to reflect the
Dublin he lived in and create human characters that became the face of Ireland.
These human characters will be the focus of my discussion of O'Casey. O’Casey’s
Ireland was the poor Dublin tenement dwellers trying to survive through a war of rebellion
(Easter 1916 Rising) and then the Irish Civil War (1922-23). Ronald Ayling claims the plays
“cover the most momentous events in Irish history, not from the point of view of the political or
military leaders, but from that of the ordinary people unwillingly caught up in the indiscriminate
savagery and recrimination of civil war and revolution” (78). The characters in Juno and the
Paycock are the "ordinary people" Ayling is describing. Dagmara Krzyzaniak argues, “A family
is a perfect microcosm in which longer, social or even national-scale problems are visualized and
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scrutinized” (209). O’Casey uses the Boyles to show a small snapshot of a larger, national
problem, and their identity becomes a metaphor for the identity of early Ireland.
Mary Boyle is the youngest in the family and will be analyzed first because, like the new
Irish government, she is on a journey of self-discovery. She has not quite figured out her own
identity, which is symbolic of the Irish government working through its own identity crisis in the
aftermath of its independence. At the beginning of the play, we see her trying to figure out her
own set of principles. Even though walking out of her job will be costly to her family, she
decides to walk out with her fellow co-workers on behalf of a friend, Jennie, who has been fired
unfairly. Mary's decision to support the working class is quickly contradicted by Juno, who
reminds Mary she was never really friends with Jennie:
MRS. BOYLE: I don’t know why you wanted to walk out for Jennie Claffey; up to this
you never had a good word for her. (O'Casey 9)
Mary's new friendship shows her ability to quickly change her mind regarding situations. She
tells Juno:
MARY: What’s the use o’belongin’ to a Trades Union if you won’t stand up for your
principles? Why did they sack her? It was a clear case o’victimization. We couldn’t let
her walk the streets, could we? (O’Casey 9)
In other words, Mary has become friends with Jennie in order to have principles and to stand up
for the Trades Union. She is still in the process of figuring out which is more important: being
loyal to her family, to a friend she hardly knows, or standing up for her Trades Union. She
chooses to follow the crowd, or in other words, to stick with the Trade Unions, because that
seems the easiest and most noble course of action. The Union helps to dictate her choice in the
matter because she cannot yet understand the difference between the rhetoric of unions or
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governments and the principles that are based on her own choice. She has not yet created her
own principles uninfluenced by the propaganda of any one group. O'Casey chooses to have Mary
side with her friend and the Trade Unions, but he makes her arguments look silly when Juno
criticizes Mary's choice:
MRS. Boyle: No, o’course you couldn’t – yous wanted to keep her company. Wan victim
wasn’t enough. When the employers sacrifice wan victim, the Trades Unions go wan
betther be sacrificin’ a hundred.
MARY: It doesn’t matter what you say, ma – a principle’s a principle. (O’Casey 9)
Mary tries to return fire on Juno's criticism by claiming "a principle's a principle," but her
argument is hollow. However, Juno's argument makes more sense in the face of their family's
condition. If Mary walks out she may lose her job permanently. After the Dublin Lockout,
choosing solidarity with those workers who went on strike would seem like sheer stupidity to
someone like Juno, who chooses realistic circumstances over principles. Mary's youth and
optimism do not allow her to think in such realistic terms. She still believes in her principles,
symbolic of a young Ireland not yet defeated by war and poverty.
Mary's youth and frivolity is further stressed at the beginning of the play because her
greatest concern is which color of ribbon she should wear to the walk out. Juno points out that
“it’s wearin’ them things that makes the employers think they’re givin’ yous too much money”
(O’Casey 9). The seriousness of this situation is realized by looking at the Boyle's tiny,
dilapidated house, but Juno has to remind Mary of the consequences of her actions. The loss of
one wage for the Boyles could be the difference between hunger and starvation. But Mary still
seems more concerned with boys and hair ribbons than she does with the monetary concerns of
her family, or the consequences that might come from walking out on her job.
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Even though Mary claims to have principles, it is unclear what those principles actually
are. Jerry Devine, Mary's suitor, seems to be the perfect fit for Mary. He claims to have a nice
job that would take her out of the slums, he declares love for her, and he is Irish. In spite of
Jerry's virtues, Mary shuns him and chooses Bentham, a foreigner. This choice once again shows
Mary's youth and provokes an interesting argument. Mary, the girl who chose to stand up for a
friend she previously did not like, shuns her fellow Irishman for a chance to escape with a
supposed wealthy British man. Bentham looks like a saviour, and Mary falls for him. Her
inexperience and youth steer her in the wrong direction, and she makes a poor choice. Ayling
argues that Mary is attracted to Bentham because he is different than the world she knows.
Because Bentham is educated and well-dressed, she does not recognize he is a fake. In the end,
he is the one who escapes, leaving her pregnant and a social outcast. Even Jerry will not take her
back when he realizes the worst has happened. Her youth and inexperience are strongly symbolic
of the newly formed Irish government after the 1916 Rising. Looking for a way to escape, Irish
citizens chose independence, but this independence only gave Ireland another form of war and
oppression.
Bentham's character, while he was not a member of the family, should be mentioned in
connection with Mary. Their relationship reflects the colonizer/colonized relationship. O’Casey
makes this connection obvious by making Bentham the dapper British man and Mary the poor
Irish girl. Bentham seems to court Mary and even puts up with her family. He promises wealth to
the Boyles through a mysterious will. Everything about him shouts he is the benefactor of the
family. Similarly, many colonizing countries claim to be the benefactor of the country they have
colonized. Colonizers claim they will provide wealth, religion, and government to countries they
believe are less developed than themselves. The connection between Bentham and the colonizing
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country of Britain is further perpetuated with Bentham's first introduction. His appearance
shames the Irish characters on stage, which immediately makes the audience question his
truthfulness. The other characters are real, human people surviving on little. Bentham seems to
have everything, and this plenty makes his promises sound false. His deceit makes him seem like
the one character in the play that feels like a fictional person, while all the others feel like
snapshots of real people. This contrast makes his character look foolish even while his dress and
manners are supposed to shame the Irish characters. Bentham represents Britain, but while he
gets away without being held accountable, the audience sees the validity of the colonized Irish as
real human beings, convincingly more genuine and real than Bentham.
Bentham's role as a colonizer goes even further in the play when he sexually colonizes
Mary's body. His action further demonstrates Mary's youth. Earlier she fights for her principles,
but later it is revealed she has given Bentham the most important principle to an Irish Catholic
girl. The moment of revelation about her pregnancy is also the moment of disappearance for
Bentham. Like colonizing countries, he has taken what he wanted and left without being held
responsible for his actions. Bentham, the colonizer, profits most from this relationship.
Unfortunately, Mary is left with the consequences, and from this experience she gains the
maturity she lacked earlier in the play. Having chosen Bentham over Jerry, she cannot return to
Jerry. When he discovers her secret, he says, "My God, Mary, have you fallen as low as that?"
(O'Casey 52). She replies a few lines later, "it's only as I expected – your humanity is just as
narrow as the humanity of others" (O'Casey 52). She does not expect Jerry to rescue her, but she
regrets the decision she has made even though it is too late. In parallel, the choice for
independence Ireland made causes the Civil War to follow quickly afterwards. By then it was too
late to make another choice.
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When the Captain hears of Mary's troubles, he is outraged. He says, “I’m tellin’ you
when I’m done she’ll be a sorry girl!” (O'Casey 48), and then later threatens to kick out her. He
blames her misfortunes on her being educated enough to read, and thus independent.
Her an’ her readin’! That’s more o’this blasted nonsense that has the house fallin’ down
on top of us! What did the likes of her, born in a tenement house, want with readin’? Her
readin’s afther bringin’ her to a nice pass – oh, it’s madnin’, madnin’, madnin’! (O’Casey
48)
The Captain sums up the position of the colonized country represented by Mary. He sees her
desire to escape her place in society as a wrong which caused more problems. O’Casey’s own
political beliefs suggested Ireland’s wish for freedom would only make the country worse, and
the Irish Civil War that came after Ireland’s freedom proved his point. Rather than ridding the
country of one form of tyranny, the Irish citizens put in place another form of ruling class, and
this new government is what Mary represents. She tries to rebel and become free, but instead is
forced to live with her aunt under conditions that arguably could be worse than where she
started. Jack Mitchell indicates that Mary’s desire to escape, first through Jerry and then through
Bentham, almost causes her downfall because “Both these men corrupt and almost destroy their
working-class victim” (46). Mary cannot move up because she is not ready, and the illusion of
being free almost destroys her, just like the dream and then reality of Ireland’s freedom which
almost destroys the entire country and its people's hopes and dreams.
If Mary represents the youthful government of Ireland after the 1916 Rising, Johnny
represents the war torn and crippled Ireland after the 1916 Rising and the Civil War. He is an
invalid. A bomb injured his hip during the 1916 Rising, and he lost his arm during the Irish Civil
war. In another Irish story his character might be considered a hero for the feats he has
Neumann 10
performed, but in O'Casey's play Johnny is depicted as a parasite because he cannot help Juno
support the family. Upset at her son's inability to help, Juno tells Mary, "He wore out the Health
Insurance long ago, he's afther wearing out the unemployment dole, an' now he's thryin' to wear
me out!" (O'Casey 9). A few lines later she continues criticizing him and his decision to fight,
saying, "I knew he was making a fool o'himself. God knows I went down on me bended knees to
him not to go agen the Free State" (O'Casey 10). Juno had begged him not to fight because she
did not think the Easter 1916 Rising was the right thing to do, and now that her son, and Ireland,
have been crippled, she reminds everyone war has only brought more poverty and work.
Juno is upset that Johnny has given so much to his country, but he argues he fought for
his principles and he would do it again if he had to. Throughout the play, Mary claims to be
fighting for principles, but she never really explains what those principles are. At the end, it
appears she did not even know which religious principles to believe in. In contrast, Johnny's
principles are clear from the beginning. He fought for a free Ireland to the point of becoming
crippled, and he claims he would do it again. But at the beginning of the play, Johnny seems
disturbed by the current status of the war. Juno returns home and begins talking to Mary about
the death of Robbie Tancred, their neighbor's son. Mary begins to give a description of the son's
death and Johnny jumps up and says, "Oh, quit that readin', for God's sake! Are you losin' all
your feelin's? It'll soon be that none o'yous'll read anythin' that not about butcherin'!" (O'Casey
8). Later the audience realizes he is upset about the article because he is the one who betrayed
Robbie, and consequently he has been the cause of Robbie's death. While Mary had no
principles, Johnny is a hypocrite, which is far worse and his hypocrisy leads to his own death.
Johnny's hypocrisy demonstrates that a country torn by war, like Ireland, has no boundary
between public and private. David Waterman argues Johnny has tried to avoid the war by not
Neumann 11
going to it, but in the end the war comes to him. Johnny as a war veteran, "having seen the reality
of war behind the performance of nationalism, has changed his mind about the ideals of
patriotism and duty" (Waterman 65). Like some other Irish at the time, he recognizes the rhetoric
of nationalism and is unhappy with the new government that has come into power.
Unfortunately, the only thing he can do about it is betray his principles and betray his comrade.
This does not stop the new government, and it does not stop the war; it only brings paranoia into
Johnny's life. During Act II he thinks he sees Robbie's ghost. Juno comes to see what is wrong,
and he tells her:
I seen him... I seen Robbie Tancred kneelin' down before the statue [. . .] an' when I went
in, he turned and looked at me... [. . .] Oh, why did he look at me like that?.... It wasn't
my fault that he was done in... Mother o'God, keep him away from me!" (O'Casey 30)
Johnny's guilt and paranoia are starting to destroy his life, but he cannot change the choice he
made, and he knows that eventually the war will find him again.
After Robbie's funeral passes the Boyles' tenement, a soldier comes and finds Johnny. He
informs Johnny they expect him to be at a meeting to help them discover who betrayed Robbie.
Johnny shouts, "I won't go! Haven't I done enough for Ireland! I've lost me arm, an' me hip's
desthroyed so that I'll never be able to walk right agen! Good God, haven't I done enough for
Ireland?" (O'Casey 39). Johnny asks a question close to the heart of other Irish, but as much as
he tries to avoid participating, he cannot escape; the war finds him. The violence and war in
Ireland are not something the people can avoid. Most of them are a part of the war because the
war comes to them.
At the end of the play, Johnny is killed by his comrades for the betrayal of Robbie. His
death symbolizes the final consequences for betrayal and hypocrisy, both faults Ireland must be
Neumann 12
held accountable for in O'Casey's play. His death also fuses the domestic drama of the family and
the politics and war that were the setting of the play. When he is killed, Juno can no longer
pretend the war does not exist, because it has invaded her home and touched her directly. Like
Juno, many Irish did not support the 1916 Rising. Some had sons fighting in WWI, and some did
not think the Irish could win. After the rebellion was quelled, the British executed the leaders of
the movement. When the British executed the rebels, they inadvertently created martyrs and
unified Ireland. The people who had not previously supported the war were now outraged at
British actions. The same thing happens to Juno when Johnny is killed. Earlier in the play the
death of Mrs. Tancred's son does not really affect Juno. It is a matter for a piece of gossip, but it
does not change her mind about the war or how she feels about those dying in the war. When she
comes home to find the police have found Johnny, her attitude changes. Here she offers her great
speech crying out for the help of God. She remembers Mrs. Tancred and says, "Maybe I didn't
feel sorry enough for Mrs. Tancred when her poor son was found as Johnny's been found now –
because he was a Die-hard! Ah, why didn't I remember that he wasn't a Die-hard or a Stater, but
only a poor dead son!" (O'Casey 56). Johnny's death brings the Irish Civil War into his family's
house, and it reminds Juno of the bitter equality of a mother's loss.
Johnny's betrayal also represents the betrayal of Southern Ireland. When Ireland was
fighting for its freedom, the country was split about independence. Nothern Ireland, the majority
of the counties being Protestant, wanted to stay part of Britain. Southern Ireland, the majority
being Catholic, wanted to break free. The Catholic Irish in Northern Ireland also wanted to be
free, and Michael Collins, head of the Irish Republican Army, was fighting for a unified, free
Ireland. The country, however could not come to a united decision. With the threat of war from
Britain if a treaty was not agreed upon, Collins and the rest of the Irish delegation signed a treaty
Neumann 13
on December 6, 1921, officially dividing the Irish Free State and the province of Northern
Ireland into separate political entities (Coohill 132). Collins' signing of the treaty was seen as a
betrayal of the Irish, and the Civil war erupted. Johnny's betrayal of his close friend is a
representation of this betrayal of the counties in Northern Ireland.
Ronan Mcdonald claims Johnny "is the figure who most represents the Ireland of which,
and from which O'Casey writes. [. . .] The betrayal, however, is a pained glance at Civil War
Ireland, too traumatic to be more than obliquely incorporated into the main action of the play"
(145). Both betrayals, the treaty's and Johnny's, brought about the deaths of the fictional Johnny
and the real Collins. Shakir Mustafa contends that "O'Casey's portrayal of Johnny voids
republicanism of any sustaining vigor and thus denies narrative sequence to the movement"
(101). Johnny's character, someone who may have been deified in another play, is used to show
O'Casey's and other Irish citizens' disillusionment with the Republican movement, which fought
for a united Ireland, but then gave up only to create more war.
Johnny further represents an awareness and understanding of history. O'Casey seems to
be arguing the cause of events must be understood in order to learn how to crawl out from under
them. Bernice Schrank posits, "From the Johnny story it is clear that, for O'Casey, an
understanding of historical processes is fundamental to life. Without an appreciation of historical
causality, there can be no improvement in the intolerable conditions that beset the Boyles" (444).
Schrank is suggesting the Boyles must understand the causes of their poverty in order to escape
them, and Johnny is the representation of that intersection between cause and effect. Critics have
argued O'Casey does not address the causes of poverty, but through Johnny he shows people
must be aware of the causes of poverty and war to stop them from repeating.
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Mary and Johnny, as representative of Ireland, show an Ireland in conflict. Jack Boyle, or
the Captain, derives his identity through money and therefore demonstrates the power of poverty
on the identity of Ireland. Even though he is poor throughout the entire play, he struts about town
like a peacock, or "paycock," spending his wife's money. After he learns he will inherit money
from a wealthy cousin, his identity changes. He swears he will cut his friend Joxer out of his life
(although he never actually follows through on this promise), and his attitudes and thoughts on
politics and family life change. Schrank claims that "money makes the man, but man cannot
make the money" (439). The Captain embodies this saying by becoming a man when he has
money. Before he is given the money he cannot seem to escape his poor situation. Granted, he
does not work hard to make money, but no matter what his wife or children do to get out of the
slums, they only escape when they are given a meager part of the Captain's inheritance. They
never make enough money themselves to make a difference or change their identity. During
O'Casey's time living near the tenements, he watched many poor people try to make money.
Although they worked long hours, they were never able to get themselves out of poverty. In the
Captain's case, he is able only to briefly rise to the middle class because he is given the money,
not because he makes the money.
Because the Boyles have never been taught how to budget or save their money, the
Captain and his family are not wise with their money. Nicholas Grene states the family's
spending of money in the second act "represents the thoughtless extravagance of a class too poor
even to have learned the habits of saving" (129). In this respect, they directly represent the poor
Irish O'Casey knew. They spend much of it before they are even given the money and then find
out they will not be actually receiving any money. McDonald posits that "The narrative uses a
stock melodramatic plot—fortune supposedly inherited then lost—as a mockingly blunt allegory
Neumann 15
for the disappointment of Irish national independence" (143). The Boyles are frustrated in their
dreams of escape, just as Ireland is frustrated in its independence. The final scene depicts the
furniture men arriving to move everything out of the house to pay off the creditors. Joxer and the
Captain have returned from the pub completely drunk as usual. This scene physically represents
the "chassis" the Captain speaks about in his last line, "I'm tellin' you...Joxer...th'whole worl's...
in a terr...ible state o'.....chassis!" (O'Casey 56). The Captain is disappointed by the promise of
wealth and happiness, and he is left with chaos and anarchy (considering the rebellion of his
wife) in his house. Ireland, disappointed by the promise of freedom, is left with the same chaos
and anarchy represented in this scene.
As the Captain is commenting on the world, he is also making an ironic comment on his
own life, his own house, and, consequently, his own country. The room he enters has the shutters
closed, indicating there has been a death in the family, but he is too drunk to notice his son has
been killed. This scene between the Captain and Joxer comes to represent the anarchy that is the
backdrop for this play, or the Irish Civil War. The family, which is in a constant state of chaos
throughout the play, represents the chaos found in Ireland at the time of this play's setting and,
especially, its writing. While his final moments are comic and give the audience relief from the
dramatic monologue of Juno just a few lines earlier, there is an edge to the words. Mitchell
argues the end "enables us to appreciate that Juno and her action are still an exception and that
the Irish scene remains largely defined by the Boyles and Joxers and the helpless anarchy for
which they stand" (73). The Captain, of all the characters, sums up the state of Ireland in this
final scene.
The Captain's poverty forces him to escape through his imagination. The world of fantasy
he creates is typical of the Irish ability to create fantasy out of horror. The Irish have a rich
Neumann 16
history of stories and mythical figures. Some of these stories have become entwined with the
history of Ireland partly because of their colonized past. When Ireland began to seek
independence, the Irish people invented their own form of nationalism and based it on the great
Irish heroes found in their myths. The Captain does a similar thing with his personal history. He
constantly invents tales that never actually happened, and O'Casey carefully juxtaposes these
tales with situations from reality. Mitchell argues the Captain is the embodiment of the theme of
escape throughout the play. He escapes through imagination, which is a characteristic of the Irish
people the Captain represents (52). During Act I, Joxer and the Captain are sneaking some
breakfast from Juno and the Captain begins to tell a story about being a captain on a ship:
Them was days, Joxer, them was days. Nothin' was too hot or heavy for me then. Sailin'
from the Gulf o'Mexico to the Antarctic Ocean. I seen things, I seen things, Joxer, that no
mortal man should speak about that knows his Catechism. [. . .] an' the win's blowin
fierce and the waves lashin' an' lashin', 'til you'd think every minute was goin't to be your
last, an' it blowed, an' blowed – blew is the right word, Joxer, but blowed is what the
sailors use... (O'Casey 19-20)
Later we learn from Juno the Captain was never a captain but just rode on a ship once from
Ireland to Liverpool. She discredits his story and the audience is left wondering what else the
Captain has said that might be false. He believes in his own stories, even covering for his
bungled language when he claims that "blew is the right work, Joxer, but blowed is what the
sailors use." His stories seem authentic because he really believes them, but the audience is made
aware of his story-telling.
Just as Bentham must be mentioned in conjunction with Mary, Joxer should be discussed
side-by-side with the Captain. The relationship between Joxer and the Captain is an effect of the
Neumann 17
Captain's poverty and represents the Captain's inability to break free of the slums. He is forced to
associate with people like Joxer and is unable to network with people, perhaps like Bentham,
who could help him change social positions. Joxer's friendship only hurts the Captain, and
towards the end we begin to see the true nature of Joxer. When Joxer learns the will is not going
to materialize, Joxer encourages his friend Nungent to go in and steal a coat the Captain has
purchased from Nungent but cannot pay for. When Joxer goes into the Captain's house, he does
not admit he knows about or encouraged the theft of the coat. Throughout the play, Joxer
displays very little kindness for the Captain, instead using the Captain for his own gains. This
relationship is a more subtle expression of the colonizer/colonized. While both men are Irish,
Joxer is playing the role of colonizer. He takes from the Captain what he wants and offers little
in return. The Captain chooses not to leave Joxer, even at the pleading of his wife. Even during
Act II when he says he'll no longer be friends with Joxer, he continues to invite him over. At the
end they are left together in a terrible state of anarchy, watching the world crumble around them.
The only difference is, as the colonizer, Joxer can walk away and not be directly affected by the
Captain's troubles, whereas the Captain will be left with little in his life through the exploitation
of the colonizer.
Joxer's character, while acting as parasite and colonizer of the Captain, reveals
undertones of a colonized existence. Through Joxer's speech, we see what happens to the identity
of language and literature in a colonized country. Schrank claims that Joxer "manages to debase
his literary sources" and "His reiteration of borrowed language is the appropriate expression of
his secondhand existence" (451). His secondhand existence represents the secondhand existence
colonized countries live. Their literature is an appropriated construct of the colonizer's literature
and their language is usually not even their own, as in the case of Ireland when they lost Irish and
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began to speak English. Joxer's stealing of the literature is an example of another country's
values and language being forced onto the colonized country. He never misquotes Irish literature;
in fact, he actually never quotes Irish literature. Instead his quotes come from misappropriated
uses of British literature.
The last act demonstrates the crushing blow money gives to the Captain. He does not
receive the money and therefore slips back into the poverty-stricken man he was before. Rather
than do something to help his family, especially his daughter Mary, he chooses to go drinking
with Joxer once again. The Captain cannot see a way to fix his problem, and so O'Casey has him
resort to a common Irish solution—drink. Out of all the characters in the play the Captain is the
stereotypical depiction of a drunk, lazy, tale-telling Irishman. He claims he fought in the Rising,
but this is never proven in the play. Throughout the first act, Juno tries to find him a job, but he
refuses to work because of some mysterious ailment in his legs. When he finds out about the
money, he figures he is saved and will not have to work. Grene argues the Captain "is a comic
embodiment of the shiftless working-class father, a kind of walking illustration of Oscar Wilde's
proposition that work is the curse of the drinking classes" (128). The Irish are frequently
depicted as lazy, drunk, and unwilling to seek employment. The Captain embodies this
stereotype, which directly contradicts his family members who are depicted as mostly hard-working
and honest. This comparison makes the modern stereotype seem even more ludicrous,
and he cannot be taken as a serious representation of all Irish citizens.
The Irish stereotype is further perpetuated through O'Casey's use of the typical stage-Irish
performance. Theatre-goers of the twentieth century had come to expect a stock type of Irish
character, and the Captain fulfills this description. Scholars have criticized O'Casey's depiction
of his Irish families because they embody stereotypes of the typical stage-Irishman, but Mitchell
Neumann 19
argues the Captain is only a stage-Irishman if performed incorrectly. He claims the Captain "will
have dignity, even if it is a ridiculous dignity," and the performance of the Captain can give him
the right touch of dignity and foolishness (66). The right performance can remind the audience of
the stereotypes of a stage-Irishman juxtaposed against the reality of being Irish. The Captain is
almost always drunk, refuses to work, has his best relationship with another man, continually
uses his imagination as an escape, and his language is uneducated. At times he tries to act as if he
is intelligent, which further perpetuates the comical effect of his character.
When he is talking to Bentham about religion, Bentham explains that he is a Theosophist.
When Boyle tries to explain the religion, he says, "A Theosophist, Juno's a—tell her, Mr.
Bentham, tell her" (O'Casey 29). He cannot admit he does not actually know what it is, but he
pretends like he does. Later he says, "Yogi! I seen hundhreds of them in the streets o'San
Francisco" (O'Casey 29). The Captain clearly does not know what he is talking about, and his
statement makes him look ridiculous because he has never been to San Francisco and everyone
knows it. Even though the Captain embodies characteristics of the stage-Irishman, O'Casey
depicts him in such a way to make us both like and loathe him. We want the carefree attitude he
carries, but we cannot understand his inability to grasp reality. His stereotypical behavior is only
stereotypical because we all see piece of it in ourselves. O'Casey is not saying all Irish are like
the Captain, but all Irish have moments of the ridiculous.
The Captain and Juno are juxtaposed as opposites. Juno is practical and realistic while the
Captain is lazy and carefree. Grene posits that "The Captain stands for drink, talk, the public-house,
the pleasure principle; Juno stands for work, the home, the family, the reality principle"
(129). This dynamic does not predispose the audience to like Juno, because she represents
reality, and the Captain's predisposition for pleasure reminds the audience of their own desires to
Neumann 20
seek after pleasure rather than reality. At times the Captain's and Juno's opposite
characterizations garner sympathy for the Captain. Juno is constantly nagging him, and his desire
for escape is understandable. McDonald argues, "Part of us feels we ought to spurn Boyle, yet
we cannot help being lured by his scandalous behaviour, just as we cannot help being somewhat
irked by Juno's tedious good sense" (143). The Captain's ability to slip into a world full of
imagination is a tool he uses to escape the dreary world around him. Juno does not have this tool,
or does not wish to use it, and this tool appears to be useful in comparison to the Boyles' family
life. While Juno is heroic, and her actions are commendable the only time she forgets about
working is in Act II when she has money and no longer has to worry about surviving. The
Captain, while never heroic, always seems human. They represent two pieces of Ireland: Ireland
as reality and Ireland as myth. Juno ends up the hero, showing the triumph of Ireland's actual
principles, but the Captain has the last word, proving that Ireland will is often defined and
identified with its myths.
Juno, the last character to be analyzed, is the most important character of the play
because, as a woman and mother of the Boyles, she represents Mother Ireland. Throughout this
paper, Juno has repeatedly been discussed in connection with each character. None of the
characters can be fully interpreted without mentioning their connection to Juno. There are two
important sides to Juno, and both will be covered here. The first is that Juno, as a woman and a
mother, represents Ireland in its entirety. Historically, Ireland is represented as a woman and by
women. Errol Durbach proposes that "Ireland as a mother, [. . .] is another of the play's
informing metaphors" (19). In Juno and the Paycock, Juno is Mother Ireland. She is the hard-working
figure of reality the men choose to fight for, the figure that represents their country. In
this play she becomes a heroic figure like other Irish mythological figures. David Krause states,
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"In the stoical and proud figure of Juno Boyle [O'Casey] created his own symbol of Cathleen ni
Houlihan, a black-shawled woman of the tenements who had a heart instead of a harp or a gun"
(128). Juno is a strong figure who keeps the family together and provides for them spiritually and
physically.
Juno is primarily depicted as the hero of the family. Mitchell paints her as the "master
myth-destroyer and puncturer of puffed-up peacockery" (55). He continues by suggesting she
fears principles, defends her family, and tries not to draw attention to her or her family (55). At
the beginning of the play Juno is returning home with the groceries. Her role is defined as the
mother with this simple introduction, but her character is deepened through the interactions she
has with the Captain and the children. She is more than a mother; she is their moral center and
she provides them with guidance. She criticizes Mary for wanting to walk out of her job, but
when Mary is in trouble, she walks away from her own husband and gives up everything for
Mary. At times she can be harsh on Johnny, but when he really needs her, during Act II and
when he is gone, the audience sees her total love and devotion for him. She is not easily fooled
by the Captain—at one point telling him "Look here, Mr. Jacky Boyle, them yarns won't go
down with Juno. I know you an' Joxer Daly of an oul' date, an', if you think you're able to come it
over me with them fairy tales, you're in the wrong shop" (O'Casey 13). At times her relationship
with the Captain becomes wearisome because of her constant nagging, but he needs prodding
because she is obviously forced to run the family on her own.
During Act II, her worries are lifted and her role as the caregiver of her family becomes
more prominent. Rather than being upset and frustrated by her family's unwillingness to help her
pay the bills, she has been given money and therefore the freedom to be a mother. She even
shows kindness to her husband at times, although she does not stop worrying about the amount
Neumann 22
of debt they are getting into with all of the things they have purchased. When the Captain gets up
to recite a poem, she says, "God bless us, is he startin' to write poetry?" (O'Casey 31), but she is
not criticizing his newfound pastimes because she recognizes he does not need to work as he did
before. In the middle of this act, she shows great kindness towards Johnny when he thinks he
sees Robbie's ghost. After he screams out, she goes in to comfort him, offering to sit with him as
long as he would like and saying "There, there, child, you've imagined it all" (O'Casey 31). Her
attitude towards Johnny directly contradicts what she says and does in the first act. There he asks
for water and she complains about having to serve him and his inability to contribute money to
the household. Now she can care for him and allows him to be sick because money is no longer
necessary.
Act II also shows Juno's further softening towards principles. In the beginning she refuses
to believe in principles. When Johnny claims he would fight for Ireland again because "a
principle's a principle," Juno responds with "Ah, you lost your best principle, me boy, when you
lost your arm; them's the only sort of principles that's any good to a workin' man" (O'Casey 22).
Juno's reality is rooted in the day-to-day survival of her family; she cannot afford to adhere to
some sort of principle, like fighting for a country that has given her nothing, or walking out on a
job because another worker was treated unfairly. When she has money and the fear of survival is
removed somewhat, she can begin to think about others. The Captain claims they have nothing to
do with the death of Robbie, but Juno responds with:
I'd like to know how a body's not to mind these things; look at the way they're afther
leavin' the people in this very house. Hasn't the whole house, nearly, been massacreed?
[. . .] an' now, poor Mrs. Tancred's only child gone West with his body made a colander
of. Sure if it's not our business, I don't know whose business it is. (O'Casey 36)
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As a symbol for Ireland, she is finally claiming unity with the other working-class people. She is
not just fighting for her own survival, but claiming solidarity with those around her who have
suffered in this war. Ireland must stick together to survive these wars, and it must recognize the
suffering of its working-class.
The second piece of Juno's character is her human qualities and her weaknesses. In the
end of the play Juno comes across as the hero, but O'Casey does not completely deify her. She
has moments of weakness in the play, and at times her character is not always liked. Juno's
constant nagging and criticizing of her children has already been addressed in connection with
the Captain and Johnny, so I will not repeat it here, but those moments of imperfection prove to
make her easier to understand and appreciate. Declan Kiberd defines Juno as a "[. . .] sarcastic
metaphor for what [O'Casey] derided as the fake inheritance of Irish Republicanism" (219).
Those fighting for the freedom of Ireland ended up with a free Ireland, but as we see in Juno,
Ireland is not perfect and is eventually split in the end. The promise of independence gives
Ireland freedom and peace. Juno represents when the promise of money in Act II gives her
freedom and peace. Act II destroys this peace when the war is brought into her home. The Irish
Civil War destroys the peace of independence for Ireland shortly after freedom was gained.
If Juno is the "sarcastic metaphor" for Irish Republicanism, she shows what happened to
Ireland once it achieved independence: it was split. O'Casey uses Juno to show the end result of
everyone claiming to fight for Ireland. The leaders of the different political groups were faced
with a tough decision, and in order to save the country, they signed a treaty which split the
country. This split caused the Irish Civil War. Juno's split from the family could cause a similar
war. Legally, Juno could not divorce her husband, and Mary, as discussed earlier, would have
been a social outcast. Juno chooses to leave her husband anyway to live with her sister, but the
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Captain would be allowed to go and retrieve her at any time. This violent retrieval would almost
certainly result in Mary not coming with them, since the Captain would not allow her to return to
the family being pregnant. The family would be split once again, only this time by the
unhappiness of Juno. Each resultant fight and split would only cause more violence, and this
family dynamic represents the violent splits going on in Ireland at the writing of the play.
Even though Juno is presented as a strong capable woman, and this aspect of her
characterization represents Ireland, in the end she is quite powerless and weak. She cannot
actually make her husband work, she does not stop her son from dying, and she cannot stop
Mary from being pregnant. Krause sums up her character and its representation of Ireland with
this statement: "But in the ironic context of the play, Ireland is no greater than her mothers and
wives for whom bloodshed has indeed become the final horror" (130). Juno's final horror is the
realization of her powerlessness in the face of so many forces affecting her family. Ireland's final
horror is much the same: a realization it cannot stop the violence and bloodshed that began with
the 1916 Rising. In her powerful final monologue, she cries "Sacred Heart of Jesus, take away
our hearts o'stone, an' give us hearts o'flesh! Take away this murdherin' hate, an' give us Thine
own eternal love!" (O'Casey 56). Her cry seems to capture the cry of most Irish citizens. Take
away their desire for hate and murder and give them hearts of flesh so that this violence might
end.
In the last scene, Juno and Mary are forced to leave their home, one further sign of Juno's
weakness. Juno realizes she cannot support her drunken husband and her pregnant daughter, and
Mary cannot stay there in her condition. Their leaving is a metaphor for the only option left to
those in Ireland disappointed by the political decisions that had been made and the wars that had
resulted. Mary and Juno both flee from their disappointments: Juno flees her disappointing
Neumann 25
husband and the lack of a chance for an inheritance, and Mary flees the disappointment she has
in Bentham's abandonment. Unfortunately, Mary and Juno cannot escape much further than to a
different neighborhood in the city. Juno and Mary flee to Juno's sister's apartment in another
tenement with conditions not much better than those they have just escaped. Escaping was not
really an option for the Irish people, and even if it was, most of the Irish did not have a place to
go that would be much better than the country they had recently created.
O'Casey's Ireland, as portrayed by the Boyles, was poor, violent, and devoid of hope.
Thirty years later, in 1954, Brendan Behan began writing plays about Ireland that depicted the
Irish in a similar way. Kiberd and other scholars have called Behan O'Casey's successor because
he wrote about the Dublin poor and his drama was realism rather than the absurdism of his
contemporary Beckett. The Quare Fellow, first performed at the Pike Theatre on November 19,
1954, is Behan's best play. The characters and setting are a reflection of Behan's Ireland. Mary
Trotter claims the prison can be read as a metaphor for human existence when she states, “Yet
the drama also draws from Behan’s own prison experience and hints at the way individuals in the
prison have fallen through the social fabric” (132). Her reading of the play as a metaphor is
insightful, but I wish to take it further by applying the metaphor specifically to the Irish people
rather than to humanity as a whole. For me, the metaphor of the prison represents four specific
aspects of Ireland and the Irish people. First, the prisoners represent the state of the Irish people:
poor, oppressed, and clinging to a class system as a sense of identity specifically different than
the British middle class. Second, the prison represents Ireland or the country the people are now
trapped in, which is not as glorious as the Free State promised. Third, the Hangman represents
the small part of British left over after Ireland had declared independence; and fourth, the
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Warders and people in power in the prison represent the new form of oppression the Irish people
have put into the government.
Before the specifics of the play can be addressed, some of Irish history from the 1930's to
the 1950's must be reviewed. Throughout Behan's life Ireland was in a state of conflict and
growth. The IRB had become the Irish Republican Army (IRA) shortly after the declaration of
Ireland's independence in 1921 and was still fighting to unite the country. Southern Ireland, Eire,
was still a part of Britain in many respects until May 1, 1937, when the External Relations Act
was made a law. This made Eire a Republic in all but name (Coohill 153). Ireland did not
become officially separated until Easter Monday, April 18, 1949 (Coohill 157). From 1921 until
its official independence in 1949, Eire fought an economic war with Britain, its own civil war,
and maintained neutrality during World War II. Meanwhile Northern Ireland remained a part of
Great Britain, and the official act creating Eire as a Republic made sure Northern Ireland could
stay a part of the British parliament for as long as it wanted. The IRA still fought for a united
Ireland, even though most Irish were happy with the separation officially established in 1949,
and this continued to cause violence in Ireland and Britain.
The events in Behan's life were caused by the constant violence in Ireland, and elements
of his own life story are important to mention in order to fully understand The Quare Fellow. In
many ways, Behan’s life story is as popular, if not more so, than his plays. This can make it, at
times, hard to separate the man from his works. As Christopher Murray explains, "While other
writers of the 1940s and 1950s struggled to find and shape images of the growing unfinished
nation Behan was the nation itself, loved, lovable and forever in search of completion" (150). He
was born in 1923 after the Irish Civil War had ended, and while his father was in jail for being a
member of the IRA. His mother was also a devout Republican patriot who has been compared to
Neumann 27
Cathleen ní Houlihan (Murray 149). At a young age Behan became part of the IRA, and he
fought for a unified Ireland. By the time he was sixteen he was on his way to Liverpool with a
suitcase full of explosives. No one is sure what he was going to blow up, because he was caught
before he could do anything and sent to prison for three years.
In 1942 he was arrested again for the attempted murder of a detective and was released in
1946 due to the general amnesty for all IRA prisoners at that time. According to Trotter, he was
arrested once again a year later for attempting to help an IRA prisoner escape (131-132). He
spent eight years of his life in prison, and the setting for his most acclaimed play, The Quare
Fellow, reflects this experience. Most scholars agree the play is based on Bernard Kirnian, who
butchered his brother with a knife and buried the body parts around the family farm. Behan knew
Kirnian at Mountjoy Prison (where this play is set) right before Kirnian was executed for the
crime. Some scholars suggest the play could also be related to the IRA members who were
executed for the same crime Behan was in prison for: attempted murder of a detective. Behan
escaped hanging for that crime.
With an understanding of the background on both Behan's life and Ireland the play's
themes can be be analyzed. Most critics argue The Quare Fellow is an anti-capitalist play, and
some even go as far as to call it a propaganda piece. While the play has anti-capitalist tones and
frequently indicts hanging for being barbaric, I will focus on the play's overall contribution to
post-colonial writing and Behan's description of post-independence Ireland. Behan continues
O'Casey's narrative by telling Ireland's story through the poor, who are now found in prison.
John Brannigan suggests, “Behan’s characters in The Quare Fellow are drawn mostly from what
he referred to as ‘O’Casey’s battalion,’ the north side tenement dwellers of Dublin who scraped a
living through petty crime and casual labour” (81). In Behan's play, the prisoners have been
Neumann 28
caught and punished for their petty crimes. The prison functions like the tenements in O’Casey’s
play: the people who come in are rarely let back out, no matter how hard they try to fight against
the oppression and government that exists.
The first aspect of the metaphor I will discuss is how the prison represents the 1950s class
system of Ireland. This class system is a large part of the play and therefore will be the largest
part of my discussion. The action of the play takes place over the twenty-four hours before an
execution. The man being executed is the Quare Fellow who murdered his brother by chopping
him up and bleeding him into the bog. The other prisoners, either given letters for names (A-D)
or generic names like Neighbour, Lifer, and Dunlavin, are serving terms for various crimes.
Sanford Sternlict relates Behan’s naming of the prisoners to the ultimate theme of the play by
arguing, “identity, [is] reduced in the prison to a card on the cell with a name, religion, and the
length of the sentence—in other words, the roll call of life itself” (115). Even though the
characters are rarely given any other identity than the cards of the wall, as stated by Sternlict,
they still manage to develop a class system, placing themselves above or below fellow prisoners.
The ultimate class division between prisoners and warders represents Ireland and its class
divisions after the 1921 independence and the Irish Civil War. The Dublin poor had little left, but
they still managed to rank each other, much like the prisoners in this play.
While class systems are not uncommon within societies, the system developed in the
prison can be seen as something uniquely Irish, similar to the class system in O’Casey’s and
Friel’s plays. The British left the country, and their leaving caused a hole in the Irish government
and in the class system of the cities. That hole was filled by the Irish government, and the gap in
the class system was filled with a new structure created by the Dublin poor to make up for the
one displaced when the British left. In this system, the closer the Irish got to being British, the
Neumann 29
higher class and more despised they became. The characters found inside the prison are those
people in Irish society who fell through the cracks as Ireland began to form its own country.
Even though the prisoners are all essentially the same in prison, they have still developed
a class system. Prisoner D most clearly demonstrates this difference because he chooses to
uphold the class system. He has been put in jail for embezzlement and considers himself above
the others. Prisoner C tells him what Warder Regan believes about capital punishment, and
Prisoner D declares he will tell the minister, because, after all, he "went to school with his [the
minister's] cousin" (Behan 94). This makes him appear better than the other prisoners. To further
illustrate he is better than the other prisoners, he makes sure they know his nephew is going to
Sandhurst and he went to Parkhusrt. This designation lets them know he does not consider Irish
education to be equal to British education, even though he is Irish and now in an Irish prison.
PRISONER C. [to others]. A college educated man in here, funny isn't it?
PRISONER D. I shall certainly bring all my influence to bear to settle this Regan fellow.
PRISONER C. You must be a very important man, sir.
PRISONER D. I am one of the Cashel Carrolls, my boy, related on my mother's side to
the Killens of Killcock. (Behan 95)
Prisoner D does not finish until he has informed everyone of his lineage, which shows them how
important he must be. At the end of the play, even though most of the prisoners do not have
much respect for Prisoner D, he is still the leader and businessman they look to when they steal
the Quare Fellow's letters. This is the moment when he becomes no better than the other
prisoners because he essentially performs the crime he has been put in prison for, despite all of
his suggestions that he is above the other prisoners.
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While Prisoner D considers himself to be better, Lifer's class is determined for him by
Dunlavin and the others. Before he appears, the prisoners gossip about why Lifer was reprieved
and the Quare Fellow was not. Dunlavin and Prisoner A strip the reasons down to class:
PRISONER A. Well, I suppose they looked at it, he only killed her and left it at that. He
didn't cut the corpse up afterwards with a butcher's knife.
DUNLAVIN. Yes, and then of course the other fellow used a meat-chopper. Real bog-man
act. Nearly as bad as a shotgun, or getting the weed-killer mixed up in the stir-about.
But a man with a silver-topped cane, that's a man that's a cut above meat-choppers
whichever way you look at it. (Behan 42)
Dunlavin continues by saying, "Killing your wife is a natural class of thing could happen to the
best of us" (Behan 43). Lifer has already been given a better class than the Quare Fellow, simply
because his murder act appears to be less barbaric than the Quare Fellow's. Dunlavin even seems
to imply that Lifer must be classy because of the type of cane he has, and he suggests Lifer
cannot be blamed for killing his wife: everyone has moments when they could kill a spouse.
This class system extends beyond the prison walls and seems to be embraced by the
authorities that reprieved Lifer. Kiberd proposes:
The absurdism of the prisoners’ world leads them to rate a man who killed his wife
cleanly with the chop of a silver-topped cane above the Quare Fellow, who apparently
used a meat-cleaver to chop his brother to bits. Even more spooky, however, is the fact
that such thinking seems to be shared by the authorities, who spare Silver-Top but
execute the Quare Fellow. (518)
Kiberd calls the prisoners absurd for creating this class system that ranks murderers, but their
system is only a reflection of the Irish world they came from. The prisons have accepted that the
Neumann 31
government ranks one type of murder above another, and they have integrated that ranking
system into their own society. The thinking of the prisoners is also a reflection of the Dublin
poor. They started a class system that gives even the most absurd crimes value, just like the
tenements dwellers who gave those will little a greater value than those with nothing. In the
larger metaphor of Ireland the prison represents, the characters need to define themselves beyond
the card on the wall and beyond the valueless identity left behind by the British.
When Lifer walks on stage for the first time, the stage notes indicate he has a "good
accent" (Behan 49), which further distinguishes his class as higher than the other prisoners. This
emphasis on language and its relation to class is further explored later in the play through the use
of Irish. Through conversation with Prisoner A, Lifer demonstrates he even thinks of himself as a
cut above those with whom he will be neighbors in jail. When Prisoner A asks him what he did
with his cigarette butts while he was waiting to be hanged, Lifer replies, "Threw them in the fire"
(Behan 49). The other prisoners are upset over this and cannot understand why the Quare Fellow
has left them "a trail of butts" (Behan 49), but Lifer was unable to provide this small piece of
relief for the prisoners. Lifer claims he did not know he was supposed to do that because he has
never been in prison before. His response indicates his higher class because he does not
understand prison rules and only the lower class people would be familiar with this code.
His response also indicates everyone else in prison, including the Quare Fellow, must be
poor and of a lower class because their poverty has caused them to spend most of their lives in
jail becoming familiar with jail code. An irate Prisoner A accuses him of being a liar:
You're a curse of God liar, my friend, you did know; for it was whispered to him by the
fellows from the hospital bringing over the grub to the condemned cell. He never gave
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them as much as a match! And he couldn't even bring his dog-ends to the exercise yard
and drop them behind for us to pick up when we came out later. (Behan 50)
Even though Lifer knew the rules, he decided to disregard them because he felt he was above
them. He does not consider himself to be the same type of prisoner these men are. Lifer's
selfishness demonstrates Behan's view of the middle-class selfishness of the Irish who had much
but refused to share because they considered themselves to be better than those in need.
Lifer's class is further established when Dunlavin calls the Quare Fellow's murder a "bog-man
act." Dunlavin indicates the Quare Fellow is from the bog, which implies at least a lower
class, but possibly even a barbaric class of people. Richard Russell's article on The Quare Fellow
argues the Quare Fellow is from the Blasket Islands in County Kerry. These islands were the last
places that spoke only Irish and the people on these islands had been forced to move off them,
thus gradually losing their language and their culture. Because they did not speak English, they
were viewed as a lower class. According to Russell, the Quare Fellow represents the
extermination of these people. His death is symbolic of the loss of the people from the Blasket
Islands. Russell states, "the horrific murder committed by the Quare Fellow, represents aspects
of the stereotypical racialized pure Celt that the prison seems especially well equipped to
exterminate through its imperialist warders and imported English executioner" (79). The Quare
Fellow's murder is stereotyped as something a "bog-man" would perform, and the British
government, and consequently the Irish government afterwards, are determined to remove this
type of backwards, barbaric culture. The Quare Fellow is hanged because he represents a lower
class, Irish-speaking people who do not have the connections that Lifer does.
The class system extends beyond the prisoners to the relationship between the prisoners
and warders. As expected, the warders are considered a class above the prisoners because they
Neumann 33
have the power. This is demonstrated frequently throughout the text as the warders shout orders
to the prisoners and demand obedience for no reason beyond their authority. Desmond Maxwell
posits the prisoners’ actions “should be played to suggest the prisoners’ minimal obedience to the
forms” (90). While the text is static and each director can make performance choices, this type of
obedience from the prisoners can be seen in the text itself. The prisoners recognize the warders
have the power and are therefore a class above them, but they also do all they can to fight against
the system.
The prisoners' bare minimum of obedience is shown during the second act when a group
of prisoners is taken out to finish digging the Quare Fellow’s grave. The warders are instructed
to give them cigarettes, one at the beginning and one when the prisoners finish. Upon receiving
the cigarettes, the prisoners stop working and start smoking and talking. Warder Regan re-enters
and shouts, “I’ve been watching you for the last ten minutes and damn the thing you’ve done
except yap, yap, yap the whole time” (Behan 97). The prisoners care little about the
consequences of their actions, and their decision to smoke and talk rather than work is a
reflection of their minimal obedience. Even further, when Prisoner A replies to Warder Regan,
there is little reflection of his status as a prisoner:
PRISONER A. All right! So we were caught talking at labour. I didn’t ask to be an
undertaker’s assistant. Go on, bang me inside and case me in the morning! Let the
Governor give me three days of No.1.
WARDER REGAN. Much that’d worry you.
PRISONER A. You’re dead right. (Behan 98)
Warder Regan has little with which to threaten Prisoner A’s defiance, which proves the prisoners
must obey, but only to a certain degree. They do not fear what the warders can do to them, and
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even though the warders should have authority, the prisoners effectively undermine the warders'
power.
Special relationships develop among some of the warders and the prisoners, which
negates the necessary class system. One of the warders and Prisoner C speak Irish together. The
Irish language allows them to maintain an intimacy that cannot exist if they use English.
Anthony Roche posits, “Gaelic here provides this prisoner and this warder with a medium for a
more private and authentic exchange than the English language and voice, with its imperialist
and authoritarian overtones” (58). Irish provides an escape from the use of English, the
colonizer's language. When the guard and Prisoner C speak in Irish, they are defying the
institutions left behind by colonialism and standing together as Irish rather than prisoner and
guard.
When Prisoner D finds out about the Irish conversation between Prisoner C and the
guard, he says, “How can there be proper discipline between warder and prisoner with that kind
of familiarity?” (Behan 95). He is upset that they are fighting against the established colonial
influences. The use of the Irish language breaks down the social class and barriers between the
warder and Prisoner C. Prisoner C explains, “He does only be giving me the news from home
and who’s gone to America or England [. . .] the two of us do each be as lonely as the other”
(Behan 96). Prisoner C admits that for a brief moment the warder and he are the same class
drawn together by a common language and a loneliness. They can release the roles dictated to
them through the prison system and recognize they are both Irish. The Irish language in this
scene also creates a social barrier between the audience and the play. Most audience members
would be unable to understand the Irish spoken between these two characters, and this further
Neumann 35
emphasizes the characters' intimacy and their similar Irish identity, distinct from the identity
planted by the British.
Warder Regan straddles two class systems because he acts as the bridge between the
prisoners and the other warders. Some scholars claim Warder Regan is the voice of Behan in the
play, and this interpretation is valid. More importantly, he is the only authority figure to show
compassion and understanding for the Quare Fellow. Colbert Kearney explains, “Regan is the
only one of the prison staff who has any admirable quality—his refusal to see the death of the
victim as different from the death of any other human being—and this empathy brings him into
conflict with the prison regime” (496). While Warder Regan will not lose his place in the prison,
he openly speaks against the hanging. This outspokenness aligns him with the prisoners,
effectively placing him in their class system. He is the one warder who chooses to recognize the
humanity of the prisoners. Behan argues that the countries who have been colonized have
cultures and humanity that deserve their own place in the world.
Warder Regan's compassion for the prisoners is demonstrated when the Chief is talking
to Warder Regan in Act Three Scene One and Warder Regan vocally opposes the hanging:
WARDER REGAN [almost shouts]. I think the whole show should be put on in Croke
Park; after all, it’s at the public expense and they let it go on. They should have
something more for their money than a bit of paper stuck up on the gate.
CHIEF. Good night Regan. If I didn’t know you, I’d report what you said to the
Governor. (Behan 114)
Regan’s outspoken opinion aligns him with the prisoners and against the Governor, who
represents the colonizer's power. Regan is asking for his own way to punish according to the
Irish culture that would be less barbaric. His outcry also complicates the question of capital
Neumann 36
punishment. Regan feels guilty for the Quare Fellow’s death, and he compares that death to the
murdered victim. In his eyes, neither person deserves to die.
Even within the warders and guards, a type of class system has developed. The highest
ranking is the Governor, then the Chief, then Warder Regan, and then the warders with no
names. Holy Healy fits in there somewhere, ranked around the Chief and the governor. This class
system is clearly represented by the two warders who are on guard the night before the
execution. Warder 1 explains to Warder 2 that he has given some high praise, which might just
lead to Warder 2 receiving a promotion. Warder 2 is delighted at this prospect, but he is
reminded that he is a class behind Warder 1 when Warder 1 says, "It might happen that our
Principal was going to the Bog on promotion, and it might happen that a certain senior officer
would be promoted in his place" (Behan 107). Warder 1 is passing on his old position to Warder
2 because he believes he will be promoted to a different position. Warder 2 has not really
advanced classes; he will just carry more responsibility.
The Chief enters the scene shortly after the conversation with the two warders and
exercises his authority over them. He yells at Warder 1 for being outside rather than inside
patrolling the jail and quieting down the prisoners. Sufficiently reminded of his place, Warder 1
returns to the prison. Shortly after he leaves, the Governor comes on stage and his presence
demonstrates the Chief's place in the prison, right below the Governor. Each officer of the prison
has a strict class code and officer code that must be adhered to; otherwise, the balance of the
prison might be overthrown. This balance of power is similar to the power Ireland had during
Behan’s life. Ireland was a republic in everything but name, and therefore those ruling Ireland in
her government could play-act, like the Warders, as if they were a class above the rest, but they
were frequently reminded by the British that the British still had control. The power structure
Neumann 37
worked its way back to the British, who is like the Governor in Behan’s play. When the
Governor enters, everyone falls into place below him, and Britain still had that power during the
beginning of Behan’s life.
The class system that still prevails in Behan's play leads to the second facet of the
metaphor and aspect I will address: the Free State formed after the Irish revolution was not as
glorious as the Irish had believed it would be. While Behan was not a socialist like O'Casey (he
never agreed with Stalin), his play argues the oppression of the working class and the poor of
Ireland has not changed under Irish rule. Brannigan maintains that Dublin’s working class was
the legacy of colonialism (95). Dunlavin sums it up best with this statement, "When the Free
State came in we were afraid of our life they were going to change the mattresses for feather
beds. [. . .] But sure, thanks to God, the Free State didn't change anything more than the badge on
the warders' caps." (Behan 59). To the prisoners, who represent the working class, the Free State
(Ireland freed from British rule) did not change anything. Kiberd argues Behan’s “ultimate
indictment” is that Dunlavin is better off in jail than out in Dublin. This is Behan’s critique “of
the so-called Irish Free State which blithely persisted with this British model” (515). The prison
conditions represent the quality of life of the poor in Ireland, and according to Kiberd the prison
was actually better for those of the working class in Ireland. At least in jail Dunlavin is fed
regularly and given medical treatment. Behan's indictment of the Free State was not much
different than O'Casey's.
The third part of the metaphor I will consider is the presence of a British character as a
reminder of the lasting effects of colonialism. In The Quare Fellow, Behan includes the
Hangman as his token British member of the cast. The Hangman's character is the most detached
character in the play. He arrives for the execution and then goes to a pub for a drink unbothered
Neumann 38
by the task he must complete the next morning. The Chief explains to the Governor that the
Hangman rarely drinks but likes to have one before executing someone, as if this justifies his
going to a pub. In the play it is implied that the Hangman cannot have an Irish assistant, nor can
the Hangman be Irish, because the Irish are too drunk to handle such responsibility. This could
also imply the British are the only ones capable of such cruelty. The Hangman is part of the
colonial legacy because the Irish are not considered capable enough to handle the responsibility
of running a penal system.
After the Chief tells the story about the Irish assistant who lost the tools, the Governor
says, "We advertised for a native hangman during the Economic War. Must be fluent Irish
speaker. [. . .] There were no suitable applicants" (Behan 112). The Chief does not really respond
to this, but the remark implies the Irish cannot kill their own, or they do not believe in capital
punishment. Kiberd argues the Irish on the Blasket Islands did not believe in jail because if a
person committed murder he/she would feel so guilty he/she would create his/her own
punishment (516-17). According to Kiberd's research some Irish believe there is no reason for
jail. Given Behan's love for the Blasket Islands and the connection between the Blasket Islands
and this play Behan seems to be suggesting that capital punishment only exists in Ireland
because of the colonial influence of the British. Left to themselves, the Irish would not endorse
capital punishment.
The Hangman’s clinical detachment is, at times, horrifying. While the prisoners are
describing the hanging in gruesome detail throughout the play and Warder Regan is reminding
everyone the act about to be performed is not humane or right, the Hangman and his assistant,
Jenkinson, are singing songs and measuring the victim for the rope. When they return from the
pub the Hangman convinces his assistant to sing the hymn for Warder Regan he wrote about
Neumann 39
hangings. Jenkinson sings, and the Hangman methodically measures how much rope it will take
to kill the Quare Fellow. The Hangman's unconcern regarding the hanging demonstrates the
British indifference to the suffering they created through colonization, and their apathy towards
extinguishing unique languages and cultures. The assistant's hymn tries to humanize his job and
create pity for him, but he comes off hypocritical because he does not do anything to help the
condemned. Instead he uses the hymn to make others feel better about the situation, similar to the
rhetoric used by the British and other colonizing countries to disguise the true nature of
colonization. The entire scene is macabre and ends with the Hangman asking if the Quare Fellow
is a "R.C.," or Roman Catholic. Even though the prisoner will be hanged, he will still be given a
remission of his sins in the process, symbolic of the colonizer's belief they were saving the
colonized countries.
The representation of the British in Behan's play is not kind. The Hangman casually takes
a life right after spending a merry night in the pub and listening to Jenkinson sing. The colonial
influence was still felt by Behan, and he blames the British for the current state of his country.
Roche argues the “official hanging represents the persistence of colonial acts of legislation after
the announcement of independence” (54). Earlier he proposes “The prescribed fate for direct
political or independent action in a colonial society is hanging, the legacy a condition of
confusion” (51). Ireland has been left with the legacy of the British penal system, and the
hanging in this play represents the colonial influence Britain still held over Ireland even after
Ireland had declared its independence. Thirty years after O'Casey's depictions of Dublin, Behan
is still working with a British influence, even though this influence has diminished.
The fourth and final piece of the metaphor represents the Irish government's own form of
tyranny. O'Casey argued Irish independence would not work because the people would remove
Neumann 40
British authority only to put in their own form of oppression. In the prison, the prisoners are
guarded by Irish warders. The Governor is Irish, and Holy Healy, the one who can offer religious
comfort and help, is the biggest hypocrite of all. He refuses to give Dunlavin any help even
though his profession is to help the poor; instead he tells Dunlavin to come visit him when
Dunlavin gets out. They are both Irish, a similarity that should bring them together, but instead
Holy Healy adopts the role of oppressor and turns Dunlavin away. Even though the prison no
longer operates under the British penal system, the warders have still instituted their own form of
oppression. They choose who gets certain kinds of food, who gets medical rubs, who gets
cigarettes, who gets put in solitary confinement, and who gets to be part of the grave-digging
crew. Where the British have left off, the Irish have had no troubles taking over.
The Quare Fellow and his subsequent hanging represent this oppression and legacy of
colonialism best. Maxwell alleges, "For the prisoners, the Quare Fellow is not a cause. He is a
victim, a sacrifice, the ceremonies of his death detailed in their minds” (91). Throughout the
play, the Quare Fellow’s death is described in gruesome detail by the prisoners. These
descriptions provide two purposes: first to push the anti-capitalist message of the play, and
second to symbolize the horrific nature of colonialism. Prisoner A and Dunlavin describe the
process of hanging in Act One. After talking about the last meal, the last cigarette and what it
must be like waiting for the morning so the prisoner can walk to his own death, Prisoner A gives
this harrowing image of hanging in an almost flippant manner:
In the first place the doctor has his back turned after the trap goes down, and doesn’t turn
and face it until a screw has caught the rope and stopped it wriggling. Then they go out
and lock up the shop and have their breakfast and don’t come back for an hour. Then they
cut your man down and the doctor slits the back of his neck to see if the bones are
Neumann 41
broken. Who’s to know what happens in the hour your man is swinging there, maybe
wriggling to himself in the pit. (Behan 46)
Another description of the hanging process is revealed in one of Regan’s outbursts against
capital punishment when he describes the hanging as more than pushing a lever:
And you’re not going to give me that stuff about just shoving over the lever and bob’s
your uncle. You forget the times the fellow gets caught and has to be kicked off the edge
of the trap hole. You never heard of the warders down below swinging on his legs the
better to break his neck, or jumping on his back when the drop was too short. (Behan
114)
Both descriptions are full of details the average person would not know about hanging. While the
nature of the descriptions demonstrates the cruelty of hanging, there is an underlying message
about colonialism. The nations who colonize forget about the horrific actions that usually occur
before and during colonization.
Kiberd contends that “Behan was, instead, one of the first post-colonial writers to
impinge on the consciousness of post-war Britain” (529). Behan’s play is a surface argument
against capitalism and a deeper argument about colonialism. Regan mentions that the people in
charge forget about jumping on the victim so the neck breaks. Britain, and other colonizing
nations, forgot about the people they broke as they colonized countries and destroyed cultures.
Russell proposes the death of the Quare Fellow symbolizes the death of a specific dialect of Irish
found in Kerry. He continues by claiming when the Quare Fellow is killed, the play goes
monolingual. The British, in their effort to colonize, completely removed this dialect of the Irish
language. Going even further, the Quare Fellow’s execution, if not stopped, will be the execution
of Ireland’s culture and identity. In Behan's play, language is tied to the culture, and Behan
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shows how the Irish-speaking Quare Fellow is calmly executed, while Lifer, the one with the
good accent, is reprieved.
Since Behan can be considered O'Casey's successor, a brief comparison of their two plays
should be addressed. In The Quare Fellow Behan tackles the same class issues found in Juno and
the Paycock. Both plays entrap their characters in a class system. The Boyles cannot escape the
working class of Dublin while the prisoners cannot escape the prision. Both sets of characters
still manage to invent a class order within the societal systems that differentiates between people
socially. In these self-determined class organizations Juno creates a way to for her to feel like she
is better than her neighbors just like Prisoner D clings to the British lineage he brags about. For
both plays the characters have little material wealth, and so they invent a way to distinguish
divisions with objects other than money. In this way the characters can feel like they have the
power of the wealthy over a few people without actually having the necessary money to be upper
class.
Even though the Boyles are technically free, in many ways they are just as much
prisoners as the prisoners found in The Quare Fellow. The prisoners are unable to escape
because they are being held there by a society who has dictated they have done something
wrong. In many ways the Boyles are being held prisoner by society because there is no way they
can escape their poverty without money. In both prison situations there exists a modicum of
hope; a dream that the situation might improve. Through most of the play the Boyles are hoping
the inheritance money will bail them out of the tenements. A similar theme of hope prevails in
the prison as everyone waits to find out if the Quare Fellow's will be reprieved. In both cases the
hopes of the characters are frustrated by powers beyond their control. The prisoners cannot save
the Quare Fellow and the Boyles cannot fight against the legality of the will. Both parties end up
Neumann 43
with less than than they had at the beginning. The Quare Fellow loses his life and the Boyles lose
their family.
Another interesting point of comparison, explored a little further later in connection with
all three plays, is the common British character. In O'Casey's play, written right after the
symbolic independence of Ireland, Bentham's role is quite substantial representing the large role
Britain still played in Ireland and the Irish government. By the time Behan writes his play,
Ireland has been free (in fact but not in name) for almost thirty years, and the British have
become a distant influence. The British Hangman's role is much smaller than Bentham's,
representing Britain's waning influence on Ireland and its government. Ultimately, both
characters destroy the Irish characters. The Hangman administers death to the Quare Fellow
while Bentham's actions split the Boyles. Bentham's destruction of the Irish is much more
implicit and the effects of his friendship are not seen until the end and until it is too late. The
Hangman's method of destruction is explicit and both the audience and Irish characters are well
aware of the Hangman's job. Roche claims, “The continuation of the practice of hanging as a
colonialist legacy is stressed by the dramatic point that the hangman, the necessary instrument of
the practice, is an Englishman” (51). The Hangman, in name and action, represents the violence
of colonization, while Bentham's threat to Ireland is subtle and insidious.
O’Casey feared the Irish would topple the British government and put in their own that
would be necessarily different than the British system. The end of Juno and the Paycock shows
the chaos already beginning in Ireland after the 1916 Uprising and the Irish Civil War. Behan
can go further because his play is written thirty years after the events in O’Casey’s play. The
chaos has almost completely disappeared, and the play has developed its own sense of the Irish
community: poor, oppressed by its own government, and losing its native culture and language.
Neumann 44
Juno and the Paycock was still trying to develop that identity, and the Irish were different: still
poor, but with a sense of freedom and a chance to begin something new that was Irish as opposed
to the British culture that was left behind. In 1980, thirty years after Behan, Friel wrote
Translations. Both O'Casey and Behan defined the Ireland as different than Britain. Friel's play
continues this definition, but argues that some of those differences may not be as stark as the
Irish first believed.
Translations was first performed in the Derry Guildhall on September 23, 1980 (Deane
Introduction 21). Most scholars argue the play is primarily about language and that Friel's use of
language reflects on the postcolonial conflict. A few, like Deane and Kiberd, also suggest the
play is a parable or metaphor about modern-day Ireland, although none of the scholars explore
the idea of this metaphor too deeply. Friel uses language, specifically the Irish language, to
comment on the current state of the Irish people. Friel's depiction of the Irish language shows the
evolution of the Irish as they defined themselves opposite to the British. Rather than admit the
defeat of Irish language in the face of British expansion they chose to adapt the language to
create their own, effectively becoming both British and Irish; an uneasy act that each character
must perform.Unlike the focus of other scholars, my own emphasis, as described at the
beginning of this overall discussion, will be less on language and more on how Friel's use of
language defines the contemporary Ireland. Each character typifies aspects of Ireland, but it is
not just the characters themselves that embody Ireland, but how the characters use, or do not use
Irish, that represent Friel's concept of Irish identity.
Before the play can be fully discussed, the historical time period must be explained, as
with the other two plays, and some of Friel's background should be mentioned. The play is set in
1833 during the Ordnance Survey that was conducted in Ireland during this same time period. In
Neumann 45
the play the Ordnance Survey is depicted as a horrible act performed by the British. In reality,
the survey's purpose and side effects were not that terrible. Michael Mays explains the survey
was carried out on a county-by-county basis between 1825-1841. He indicates the survey wanted
to rectify inequities in the local taxation and the British wanted an official map of the names and
boundaries of the Irish countryside. It was not a military operation, and, in many cases, instead of
eradicating the culture the survey helped to preserve the local history that would have been
destroyed by the famine in the 1890's. Even though the survey helped preserve Irish culture and
history, the lasting effects of the survey were still pernicious (119-120).
Friel also targeted the nationalization of schools that occurred in Ireland after 1831 in this
play. The British created a national school system in Ireland, which became known as the
nationalization of schools. In these schools the only language spoken and taught was English.
Even though Friel includes the nationalization of schools in his play, the Education Act, which
created the national schools in Ireland, was instituted in 1831, slightly before the time period of
his play and not exactly congruous with the Ordnance Survey, although there is some overlap.
While historically inaccurate, Friel combined these two events to create his desired effect. Many
scholars have argued the play is historically inaccurate, and while true, that is not the point.
Wolfgang Zach states, "Friel's overall concern seems to have been to select precisely those
elements of the Irish past which still haunt the Irish present" (76). It does not matter if the events
happened at different points; it matters that the events happened, and contemporary Ireland still
feels the effects of these events.
Friel's personal history, while not extensively explored in comparison to his works, is
also important to note. He was born in Omagh, County Tyrone, and at age 10 moved to Derry
(Sternlicht 116). He was educated in Eire and Northern Ireland and today lives on the border
Neumann 46
between both. Most Irish consider him to be a complete representation of their country because
of his educational and land-owning backgrounds. Sternlicht explains, "For millions, Friel speaks
for Ireland from the stage. [. . .] Friel, a Roman Catholic born in Nothern Ireland, educated in
both the North and the South, and residing in Donegal, not far from the border [. . .] may come
closest of all contemporary dramatists" (116) to speaking for all of Ireland. Sternlicht also
explains, "The Troubles were the political events of [Friel's] life" (117) and this conflict colors
his writing. Friel's own grandfather was a hedge-school master and both sets of grandparents
were native Irish speakers (Lojek 185). This personal history can be seen as part of the web of
the play; the combination of both the historical and personal information gives a the audience
better understanding of Translations.
With an understanding of the important historical points, we can more fully explore how
Friel uses language, in conjunction with his characters, to form metaphors for Irish identity. Each
of the six main characters react differently to the mapping of Ireland, and their interactions with
language reveal the different contemporary attitudes about the collapse of Irish. They will be
analyzed in the following order: first, Hugh, the schoolmaster, is excited to be part of the
national school system, but still holds on to the beauty of the Irish language. Second, Manus, one
of Hugh's sons, refuses to accept the change and eventually leaves the county. Third, Owen,
Hugh's other son, returns with the British, as their translator. He, at first, embraces the survey
and the English language. Fourth, Yolland, a British soldier, sides with the Irish and disagrees
with the true purpose of the survey. He befriends both Owen and Maire and is the only
sympathetic British character. Fifth, Maire wishes to learn English and literally embraces the
British in the figure of Yolland. Sixth, Sarah, a mute, can only speak a few words, but her
Neumann 47
actions, which lead to violence, express her dislike of the British and the loss of language she has
just barely learned.
The first character for this discussion, and probably the most important character in the
play, is Hugh, because he embodies the language adaptation that occurred during the 1830's in
Ireland and demonstrates why the Irish speak English today. The opening scene in the play does
not include Hugh, but one can argue the play does not really begin until Hugh enters after the
naming ceremony. Richard Pine indicates that the "key to Hugh's character, [is] the fact that the
play revolves around him, as its central persona" (225). This argument is clearly demonstrated
even before Hugh enters the classroom. Manus and the other students are busy setting up the
play with their conversation. The audience quickly learns Maire wants to speak English, Jimmy
Jack is slightly perverted, Sarah is only just learning to speak, a new national school system will
be coming to the county, and how the crop is doing poorly. During all these pieces of
conversation Hugh is constantly mentioned, once by Manus asking Sarah where Hugh is, once
by Maire asking if school will take place, and a couple of times by Doalty and Bridget when they
mention Hugh is coming, but is completely drunk. His presence is what everyone is waiting for,
and his entrance immediately brings the attention to language.
Right before Hugh enters, Doalty says, "The bugger's not coming at all. Sure the bugger's
hardly fit to walk" (Friel 20). Rather than take offense, Hugh corrects him with the proper Latin
word. He says, "Adsum, Doalty, adsum. Perhaps not in sobrietate perfecta but adequately sobrius
to overhear your quip" (Friel 21). Hugh has already managed to turn the focus of the
conversation to language and the study of language. He then proceeds to quiz his students on the
roots of the words he is using. Interestingly, he does not ask them for the Irish word root, but the
Latin or Greek root. He is teaching his students Latin and Greek rather than Irish or English.
Neumann 48
While his students know how to speak Irish, few know how to write in Irish because Hugh
teaches them how to write in Latin and Greek, both dead languages. Most importantly, Hugh is
teaching his students the origin of language and, in some ways, the evolution of language. While
both languages he teaches are dead, pieces of those languages have been absorbed and changed
by other languages to create something new. The language games Hugh plays in the school
foreshadow what must and will occur with the Irish language.
While Hugh refuses to speak or teach English, his character is the only one in the play
that recognizes what must happen to preserve the Irish culture in the face of a language change.
Pine argues, "Hugh is the complete realist because he knows what is happening" (227). Tim
Gauther affirms "[Hugh] also recognizes that any hope of cultural survival depends upon an
adoption and appropriation of the colonizer's language" (348). While the other characters are
fighting against the proliferation of English, Hugh accepts the Irish language must change;
indeed, he has seen this change in his beloved Latin and Greek. But rather than just learn to
speak English he knows the Irish can re-invent their own version of the language, as the English
did by including pieces of Latin. Hugh's desired adaptation of the language is most clearly
demonstrated by the actors. They are speaking English, but the audience knows they are actually
speaking Irish. This is one of Friel's great devices that clearly shows the evolution of the Irish
language. Hugh does not accept that the Irish must cast their allegiance with Gaelic or with
English, and this is Friel's point. The Irish do not have to leave their homes, return to a language
few of them actually speak, or accept the rule of the British and learn English. Instead they can
become a hybrid culture that accepts pieces of the British language but keeps the important
aspects of their own culture, changes the English language into their own. Friel's use of English
Neumann 49
in place of Irish in the performance of the play clearly depicts the hybrid nature of language
which demonstrates the hybrid nature of the Irish people.
There is more behind the idea of the adaptation of Irish than just the British desire to rule
Ireland. John Malenich alleges that, "Hugh also understands that his people's language has grown
static and no longer represents those who speak it, because of colonialism, English was the
language of the future of Ireland and denying that would only allow this community to be
alienated" (74). English was becoming the language of trade, as even Hugh admits. While
relating to the class a conversation with the British Lancey, he says, "Indeed—[Lancey] voiced
some surprise that we did not speak his language. I explained that a few of us did, on occasion—
outside the parish of course—and then usually for the purposes of commerce, a use to which his
tongue seemed particularly suited [. . .]"(Friel 23). Hugh knows that his community will
eventually be forced to learn English in order to survive economically. He recognizes the Irish
language is dying and English is the language of survival. If Hugh wants to save his community,
he needs to teach them how to speak English, even though "English [. . .] couldn't really express
[them]" (Friel 23). At the end of the play, Hugh demonstrates his willingness to start adapting
when he agrees to teach Maire English. Unfortunately, as he tells Maire, he can teach her the
words, but he cannot teach her the meaning. He says, "I will provide you with the available
words and the available grammar. But will that help you to interpret between privacies? I have
no idea" (Friel 90). Deane states, "That is the problem of translation. It is, in effect, an
interpretation" (Brian Friel 107). Hugh recognizes the British cannot translate the Irish and the
Irish cannot translate the English. This is why the Irish cannot just appropriate the language; they
must adapt and make the language something of their own.
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Hugh's recognition of his community's need to learn English is ironic because he has
spent his entire career teaching his students other dead languages. Maureen Hawkins states, "The
insistence of Hugh and Jimmy Jack on the superiority of classical languages and cultures denies
the validity of Irish experience, thus preparing the ground for British linguistic imperialism"
(28). Hugh has already prepared the way for the British to take over the Irish language because
he has taught his students their own culture is not worth studying or learning in school. Instead,
the students have spent their time learning Greek history and the stories written in Latin and
Greek instead of their own language. Teaching these languages foreshadows the events that will
take place later in the play. Hugh teaches the students dead languages and their own language
will soon have few speakers, most Irish choosing to speak English instead. Hugh, teaching
languages that have disappeared, knows the danger of letting language or culture disappear and
fears that if his community does not learn to adapt, their way of life will also disappear.
This principle is further demonstrated by the final speech of the play. As the curtain
closes, Hugh quotes a passage from the Aeneid about the city of Carthage that was completely
destroyed and the city's culture and language was lost forever. Hugh's job is to make sure this
does not happen to Ireland, and the only way to do this is to appropriate the English language for
Irish use, rather than allow the British to dictate what the Irish culture can or cannot be. During
the moment that Hugh begins to recite this passage, he forgets part of it. He says, "What the
hell's wrong with me? Sure I know it backways, I'll begin again" (91). Just as Carthage
disappeared, Hugh's way of life is beginning to disappear. He cannot remember a passage he has
taught and studied thousands of times. This small moment is another shadow of what is
happening to Ireland. Throughout the play there is a feeling of loss, especially at the end when
the characters begin to forget important things or they get lost. Hugh's momentary memory loss
Neumann 51
is a symbol of the small, but significant pieces of culture and people that gradually get lost when
another culture claims colonial power.
While Hugh recognizes what must happen to preserve Irish culture, his two sons take
opposite sides about the preservation of Irish and also Irish culture. Manus, the first son I will
discuss, represents those Irish who refuse to accept a change in their language. Tony Corbett
calls him the "touchstone of the play" (23), and Zach argues that Manus' escape symbolically
represents that the Irish cannot escape colonization (87). Manus is so opposed to the change of
languages, and as he views it, culture, that he flees his hometown. Today Manus would be a
member of the Gaelic League or any number of organizations that are trying to preserve the Irish
language. Even though Manus can speak English, he will not speak it with the guards, and even
when he gets extremely angry at Yolland, he only curses Yolland in Irish. Hugh, looking ahead
at the necessary language changes, applies for the job at the national school; Manus, refusing to
accept that Irish may disappear, applies for a job at another hedge school in another county that
will be mapped next. Manus cannot accept that it might be okay to adapt the English language.
He, like many other Irish, believe that language is culture and losing the Irish language means
losing the Irish culture.
When Yolland disappears, Manus runs away, but everyone knows he will be caught and
most likely blamed for the disappearance of Yolland. Owen tries to warn him and tells him "I'm
warning you: run away now and you're bound to be . . ." (Friel 70), but Manus is determined to
leave and he chooses a remote peninsula as his destination, perhaps hoping the changes will not
reach him. His escape, and implied recapture, represents the inability of the Irish to escape
colonization. Manus cannot escape; his way of life is dying, just like the Irish language and
possibly the culture is dying. He is ultimately betrayed by Maire, his intended, when she chooses
Neumann 52
Yolland over him. This choice symbolizes the betrayal of Ireland (represented by Maire) against
those who fought for the Irish language (represented by Manus). While a select few were
fighting to speak Gaelic and keep the language and therefore culture alive, Ireland, as a whole,
chose to adapt the British language as a means for survival, effectively weakening the Gaelic
language in Ireland.
The second son I will discuss is Owen, who is a cross between Manus and Hugh. He
readily accepts the British language and acts as the translator for the soldiers, but this acceptance
only lasts until he recognizes what he is losing, and then he fights to retain the Irish way of life.
His name, Roland to the British and Owen to the Irish, is the perfect symbol for the hybridity of
the Irish and what will eventually happen to the Irish place names they are re-mapping. Ronald
Rollins intimates, "[Owen's] identity has been altered and eroded by the arbitrary ritual of
naming, and his loss prefigures the longer loss which is to follow—the loss of their historical-cultural
identity by all the Irish people living in this English colony" (39). The British change
Owen's name to Roland, and he does not correct them. When Manus suggests it is wrong for the
British to call him Roland, he says, "Owen – Roland – what the hell. It's only a name. It's the
same me, isn't it? Well, isn't it?" (Friel 37). This line only reminds the audience of what is to
come later for the Irish people; their own names will be Anglicized and the inherent meaning of
the names will be lost. Later he tells Manus he is rich, and this seems to imply Owen gave up his
name, a central piece of identity, for monetary gain. This makes his lack of concern for his name
being changed even more tragic.
Owen's name change further represents the nature of translation. Owen became Roland,
and the Anglicization of his name lost the Irish meaning of Owen. This will happen as each Irish
place name is translated in English. While the British may be able to translate the names into
Neumann 53
something more Anglicized, they will be unable to translate the meaning or the stories and
cultures that go along with the the Irish name. This is most clearly demonstrated in the story of
Tobair Vree. Yolland is concerned at his role in this "eviction of sorts" (Friel 52), and Owen
responds "We're making a six-inch map of the country. Is there something sinister in that?" (Friel
52). He continues by telling Yolland that they are helping to clear up the confusion, but Yolland
insists they are eroding something. Yolland recognizes that the British words cannot capture the
meaning of the Irish names.
In order to disprove this point, Owen explains how Tobair Vree got its name. He
concludes with:
I know the story because my grandfather told it to me. But ask Doalty—or Maire—or
Bridget—even my father—even Manus—why it's called Tobair Vree; and do you think
they'll know? I know they don't know. So the question I put to you, Lieutenant, is this:
what do we do with a name like that? Do we scrap Tobair Vree altogether and call it—
what?—the Cross? Crossroads? Or do we keep piety with a man long dead, long
forgotten, his name 'eroded' beyond recognition, whose trivial little story nobody in the
parish remembers? (Friel 53)
Owen claims names have little meaning for the people who use them anyway, so there is no
sense in trying to preserve the meaning. In the case of Tobair Vree, he is both right and wrong.
No one may remember why it was named Tobair Vree, and therefore the name can be changed
without losing something, but Owen has forgotten that he remembers where the name comes
from. He states that "nobody in the parish remembers" this name, but he seems to have neglected
himself, and the relationship this story cultivated between him and his grandfather. Owen's own
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story negates his point that names are forgotten and without purpose; Tobair Vree is not without
purpose and has certainly not been forgotten.
Hybridity complicates Owen's role in the play. When Owen arrives back to the small
town he was raised in he has become a translator for the British. He is trying to become a part of
the British by learning to speak their language and joining with them. When he first enters, he
tells Manus, "My job is to translate the quaint, archaic tongue you people persist in speaking into
the King's good English" (Friel 30). His desire to be a part of the British community has caused
him to "other" his own Irish community. He calls them "you people" instead of recognizing that
he also spoke that language. Despite his desire to "other" the Irish, he is still not British, but a
hybrid of British and Irish. He refuses to recognize the British might be doing something
harmful. Manus asks:
MANUS: [. . .] What's 'incorrect' about the placenames we have here?
OWEN: Nothing at all. They're just going to be standardized.
MANUS: You mean changed into English?
OWEN: Where there's ambuiguity they'll be Anglicised. (Friel 36)
Owen does not admit there could be something sinister behind the British desire to map the Irish
country. Instead he chooses to believe the British are helping, and he looks upon his fellow Irish
citizens as people who are refusing, or even hindering, progress.
Towards the end of the play, Owen finally recognizes that something might be destroyed
in his innocent mapping project, and he wants to become part of his Irish community again.
Unfortunately, it might be too late. He cannot fully come back to the Irish community because he
has learned what it means to be British and he has tried to adopt their ways. But he cannot be
British either because he was born Irish and has only recently learned what it means to be
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British. Lucia Salaris argues, "Owen doesn't belong to the community any more. On the other
hand, he doesn't belong to the British world either" (102). Her statement sums up Owen's
inability to find a place between the two countries. He has given up his place in Ireland, even
though he still knows the password to the tribe. He shows he knows this as he comes into the
hedge school and talks to Sarah. Not only does he call her by her full name, but he talks about
where she was born. This is the key to the Irish community, and it shows Owen is aware of the
culture he has come from. At the end he returns to this culture, but only through the extreme
price of violence. He joins the Donnelly twins to fight against the British, and to save the Irish
village from being destroyed in retribution for the disappearance of Yolland.
Owen's foil is the British soldier Yolland. While Owen wants to become British, Yolland
wants to become Irish. Timothy O'Leary explains that Yolland "also begins to follow the well-worn
path of the accidental colonizer, falling in love with the landscape, the people and the
language of the colony" (30). During the work of translation, he says to Owen "Do you think I
could live here?" (Friel 45). Yolland finds himself drawn to the Irish people and the way they
live, even though he knows he will always be an outsider. Owen, knowing the harsh realities of
Irish life that he has tried to escape, replies, "Live on what? Potatoes? Buttermilk? For God's
sake! The first hot summer in fifty years and you think it's Eden. Don't be such a bloody
romantic. You wouldn't survive a mild winter here" (Friel 45). Yolland has fallen in love with an
Edenic Ireland, not the Ireland that actually exists. Salaris states it this way: "what [Yolland]
cherishes is not Irish culture as it actually is, but its idealized image, where everything is reduced
to an aesthetic dimension" (102). He can only see the beauty of the language, the beauty of the
landscape and the beauty of Maire; he misses the poverty, the famine, and the eventual loss of
language.
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Yolland, as the accidental tourist, opens up the possibility for communication between
the Irish and English (Gauther 346). While Yolland and Owen translate the names, they establish
a dialogue between English and Irish. Owen reads the Irish names and together they give an
English sound to the Gaelic word. When they take a break, Yolland asks to hear the names again
"as they still are—in [Owen's] own language" (Friel 45). Owen complies, and Yolland repeats
them to himself, memorizing the sounds. Later they participate in a christening of sorts when
Owen reveals his name is actually Owen, not Roland. While they shout out, "We name a thing
and—bang! it leaps into existence!" (Friel 56), they drink "Lying Anna's poteen," or, as it is
known in Irish, "Anna na mBreag's poteen" (Friel 56). For a brief moment they are
communicating with more than the same language; they finally understand each other. Yolland
states, "I'll decode you yet" (Friel 56), meaning he will be able to do more than just speak the
sounds of the Irish language. Unfortunately, this understanding is never reached. True
communication only occurs while under the influence of a drink called "Lying Anna," a perfect
symbol for the colonizer's inability to connect truthfully and communicate with the colonized.
Later, Yolland's disappearance further represents the inability of the Irish and British to
communicate without violence.
The pinnacle of communication and miscommunication between the Irish and English in
this play comes between Yolland and Maire. The two characters from different cultures
somehow fall in love without being able to speak the same language. This point is further
demonstrated by the fact that the actors are speaking the same language (English) and yet the
characters still do not understand what each other is saying.:
Maire: The grass must be wet. My feet are soaking.
Yolland: Your feet must be wet. The grass is soaking. (Friel 62)
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Both characters are saying the same thing, and the audience knows Maire and Yolland are saying
the same thing, but there is is no true communication through their words. They do not
understand what the other person is saying even though they seem to understand what the other
person is feeling. Without a common language the two people, and the two countries they
represent, cannot be brought together permanently.
Later in the love scene Yolland begins to speak the Irish place names Owen has taught
him; this small shared language creates a form of communication even though there is no
meaning behind the words:
Yolland: Maire
She still moves away
Maire Chatach
She still moves away
Bun na hAbhann? (He says the name softly, almost privately, very tentatively, as if he
were searching for a sound she might respond to. He tries again) Druim Dubh?
Maire stops. She is listening. Yolland is encouraged.
Poll na gCaorach. Lis Maol.
Maire turns towards him.
Lis na nGall
Maire: Lis na nGradh.
They are now facing each other and begin moving—almost imperceptibly—towards one
another. (Friel 65-66)
Maire is drawn to the sounds of her own language, and she reaches out to Yolland. They begin
speaking their separate languages again, but this time they know what the other person is saying
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and the scene ends with a kiss: a type of communication that needs no words. This relationship
symbolizes the brief moments of peace between the British and Irish. Both countries are brought
together by the English language, but because the two countries speak a different version of
English the similarities are not enough to create communication. Yolland and Maire's fragile
unity, brought together by the Irish placenames, will be shortly destroyed. The Irish/British
relationship is just as tenuous and held together by a language both countries speak. Even though
both countries speak a version of the same language the words they speak to each other often do
not have the same meaning because the Irish have adapted English and made it their own
language. Like Yolland and Maire, who only speak the same language when naming places in
Ireland, the Irish and English speak the same language but the meanings behind the words can
often differ and create violence.
If Owen's foil is Yolland, then Manus' foil is Maire. Unlike Manus, who already knows
English but refuses to speak it, Maire desires to learn English, and even though she is promised
to Manus, she chooses the British Yolland because she wants to leave the island and Yolland
represents something different and exotic. There are two important things to note about Maire:
first, she knows the value of English. She is the only character to embrace English, and this is
shown through her desires to be taught English, and physically when she embraces Yolland.
Second, she breaks the code of the Irish and betrays her country when she chooses Yolland over
Manus. This shows the negative effects of the British culture on the Irish culture because she
betrays where she comes from, and does not seem to care.
The first thing to note is Maire's valuation of the English language. At the beginning of
the play when Hugh explains that English cannot express the Irish, Maire gets visibly upset and
says, "We should all be learning to speak English. That's what my mother says. That's what I say.
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That's what Dan O'Connell said last month in Ennis. He said the sooner we all learn to speak
English the better" (Friel 24). She continues by quoting Daniel O'Connell, an Irish politician who
thought the Irish people should learn English, who said, "The old language is a barrier to modern
progress" (Friel 25). Her lines are important, because Friel uses her to show that the Irish
language was already in decline long before the British mapped the colony. Maire, like other
Irish, was ready to learn English and embraces new this language. Many Irish subscribed to
Daniel O'Connell's position that they should learn English. There were other reasons the Irish
language was disappearing, such as the potato famine foreshadowed in the play, which forced the
emigration of thousands of Irish. Unlike some scholars believe, some of the Irish people were
willing to learn English and did not view the language switch as something sinister or negative.
The Irish audience watching this play in English is faced with the character of Maire who makes
choices similar to their own ancestors. Friel seems to be saying that it is because of their own
ancestors, like Maire, who wanted to learn English that a contemporary Irish audience is now
watching a play about the loss of the Irish language in English. The British are not the only ones
at fault for the loss of Irish language.
Maire's love of the English goes beyond her desire to speak the language. By embracing
Yolland she physically shows she is willing to accept the British and their language. Ironically,
she chooses Yolland because she wants to leave and she thinks he will take her with him, but
Yolland has fallen in love with her country and wishes to stay on her island rather than return to
England. After their brief moment of communication, she believes he will come back for her and
they will escape to Britain, but the only thing she walks away with is the place names of
Yolland’s own country and the word “always.” At the end when Yolland disappears, Maire
returns to the hedge school to wait for him. Even though she has not actually left with Yolland,
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her desire to leave Ireland and her willingness to give up Irish for English has already created a
sense of loss in her character. While she is waiting for Yolland to come back, she leaves the
school, but then comes back and says, “I’m back again. I set out for somewhere but I couldn’t
remember where. So I came back here” (Friel 89). Her sense of loss is fueled by her willingness
to leave the Irish language and island behind to be with Yolland. Now she has also lost the
British soldier and she has no direction—she cannot be with Yolland, yet she does not feel like
she belongs in her Irish community. Like Owen, she has become a hybrid, caught between two
worlds and without a home.
Maire’s valuation of English and her subsequent relationship with Yolland is also what
causes the violence in the village to occur. Someone has told the Donnelly twins of Maire's
treachery and Yolland has been taken and probably killed. Lauren Onkey argues that Maire is the
symbol for Ireland and for the qualities of the nation. This makes Maire the nation’s property.
Onkey further explains, “Maire cannot act freely on her desires because she functions as property
and symbol of Baile Beag. If Maire stands in for Ireland, then Yolland’s emotional or sexual
possession of her is equated with possession of the country” (166). As in other Irish plays, the
women are often symbols for Ireland, and Maire’s willingness to give herself to Yolland is
symbolic of the Irish willingness to give themselves to the British system. Her choice is not the
same choice as others in her community, and they, like the Donnelly twins, refuse to allow their
country, or Maire, to be possessed.
The concept of Maire representing female Ireland is further discussed by Maria-Elena
Doyle. She states, "Friel is unwilling to allow us such an easy association; after all, [. . .] Maire is
rather too ready to leave her homeland to become its feminine embodiment" (169). Even though
Maire can be considered a symbol of Ireland, her possession is only wrong because the Donnelly
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twins view it that way. Her own choice is to be with Yolland, and this is how Friel complicates
the colonized's position. If Maire is the symbol of Ireland and she chooses to be with Yolland,
then Friel is saying that the people of Ireland made the choice to accept English, and that is how
most Irish ended up no longer speaking Gaelic. It was because the British forced English upon
the Irish and because some of the Irish welcomed this new language.
The second and last thing to note about Maire is her betrayal of the Irish code. She had
been promised to Manus as a child, and she betrays this promise and cultural code when she
chooses Yolland. This action further devastates the little community of Baile Beag. Sarah, who
sees Maire with Yolland, feels betrayed because she has feelings for Manus, but knows she
cannot have Manus or act on those feelings because he is promised to someone else. But Maire
betrays Manus, and Sarah does not consider Maire to be worthy of Manus. Manus is forced to
flee because he does not want to accept the British language and customs infiltrating his town.
Yolland is killed because, even though Maire and Yolland try, there are consequences for
marrying outside the tribe. These consequences are detailed in Jimmy Jack’s speech about his
upcoming marriage to Athene. He says, "Do you know the Greek word endogamein? It means to
marry within the tribe. And the word exogamein means to marry outside the tribe. And you don't
cross those borders casually—both sides get very angry" (Friel 90). While he is not lecturing
Maire for her choice, he is warning her that exogamy is not to be taken lightly, and the end of the
play shows the truly dire consequences for seeking a mate outside of her own tribe.
Sarah, a somewhat minor character, plays a major role in contributing to the violence at
the end of the play. Many scholars claim she represents Ireland because of her gain and then loss
of language. At the end, when she is threatened by Lancey, she loses her power of speech, which,
according to multiple interpretations of her, symbolizes Ireland’s loss of language when the
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British came in and created the National Schools and mapped the country. Onkey claims that
Sarah is an ambiguous character and cannot be solely read as a symbol of Ireland. She states,
“But if Sarah represents the suffering nation, then Friel would be reinforcing rather than
reconstructing old myths and stereotypes” (168). Onkey does not claim what Sarah could
represent, but if Friel is reconstructing old myths then the character of Sarah must be read as
more than just another woman who represents Ireland. Her loss of speech is indicative of what
happens to much of Ireland because of the National School system. Sarah does is not just a
victim but actually helps cause the retribution against the British for taking Maire. It is she that
sees Maire embrace Yolland, and she is the one who cries out alerting others to the problem.
Manus claims he only yells at Yolland for the crime, but the implication is that someone told the
Donnelly twins what has happened, and Sarah was probably the one who told them. When she is
questioned she falls back into her inability to speak, which is a convenient way to hide her
transgressions. She is not only a suffering nation, but a nation willing to strike out in violence
against those who take away or hurt the people it loves.
All three plays covered in this paper deal with Irish identity and its definition as opposed
to British culture. Now that each play has been analyzed in-depth and their differences have been
explained, I will look at four strong connections between their themes and characters. First, the
Irish language is the foundation for Behan and Friel, and it is the defining characteristic of the
Irish people in their plays. Second, all three playwrights use a version of the stage Irishman,
which contradicts, rather than enforces, commonly held stereotypes of the Irish. Third, the
women play crucial roles in Friel’s and O’Casey’s plays, and their presence in such a male-dominated
art form is essential to Irish identity. Last, each play includes a British character or
two, and throughout the plays the British role evolves mimicking the role of the British in
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Ireland. On its own, each play defines Ireland and its people, but together